


Another Version of the Truth

by fractualized



Category: Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Bane is here for the drama, Bruce is a doofus, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Freeze does not care about any of this, Harley is mean, Head Injury, If angst can be light, Implied Sexual Content, John is ambivalent but thrilled, Light Angst, M/M, Referenced Suicide Attempt, Sexual Humor, With special guests Selina Kyle and Alfred Pennyworth and Waylon Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 10:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15022799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractualized/pseuds/fractualized
Summary: Bruce's first visit to Old Five Points has a bit of a hiccup in the form of blunt force trauma to the head. Side effects include memory loss, sudden boyfriend syndrome, shameless flirting, dancing, and drrraaammmaaaaaa.





	1. Going Steady

**Author's Note:**

> I had the urge to write something light and silly while working on On the Mend. I'll probably add onto this at some point, but I have no actual plan/schedule for it.

John understood Harley's concern about Bruce earning everyone's trust before knowing the path to their lair. And really, knocking him out for this first venture to Old Five Points was the most reasonable solution.

John's approval of the idea nosedived when Bane's goons carried Bruce into the station and he spotted the bloody mess on the side of his friend's head. The balloon John had been tying to the banner over his ha-hacienda floated away as he scrambled down the ladder. The three goons were arguing as they set Bruce on the floor just a few feet from John's makeshift house. John stood over his friend's still form.

"You guys!" he exclaimed. They quieted, and while John wasn't the head honcho around here, they had the decency to look sheepish. John struggled for words and wound up gesturing wildly at Bruce. "YOU GUYS."

"It was an accident," Tim insisted.

"Not really an accident?" said Alphonso.

"More of a necessity," added Raj.

"What's all the racket?" came Harley's agitated voice. The men's sheepishness turned to cringes as they watched her descend the stairs from her office. She stopped at John's side, her eyes wide at Bruce's leaking head. "Guys!" she snapped.

The three men erupted in defense of themselves.

Harley made a slashing motion with her arm. "Shaddup! How do you bleed from chloroform?"

"We tried the chloroform!" Raj said.

"But, I mean, obviously he wasn't happy about being ambushed," Alphonso said.

"Not happy?" Tim exclaimed. "He got me in a headlock!"

"Luckily I saved you," Raj said proudly, "using the skills that Bane has been nurturing in us."

Alphonso made a face. "There happened to be a pile of cinderblocks and you flung one at Wayne's head."

"Almost hit me instead," Tim groused.

Raj challenged, "But how would I have flung it without all the lifting I've been doing?"

John's fists twisted so tightly in his hair that his scalp was starting to burn. This should be funny, but all he could think about was how unhappy Bruce would be when he woke up. Why would he want to repay the favor now? He could decide to leave, and the rekindling of their friendship would be snuffed out.

And if that happened, John could think of lots of funny things to do to these fumbling jerks.

"Get 'im off the floor!" Harley barked. "For chrissakes, you wanna get his wound infected?"

"Oh, uh, yeah." John leaped to his front door and yanked it open. "Get him in here!"

The goons laid Bruce on John's bed, blood already smearing on the pillowcase and the gym mat that served as a mattress. John pulled his blanket up to Bruce's chin in case he was in shock. John didn't really know what the signs of shock were, but if it was good enough for medical dramas, it was good enough for him.

Tim ran off to the Pact's store of medical supplies, and he came back with a box of stuff and Bane. Bane couldn't fit through the ha-hacienda door, so he stood outside the window overlooking the head of the bed. Tim passed the first aid box to Alphonso through the neighboring window and stayed to watch beside Raj.

"Aristocrat can't handle a tussle," Bane sneered as Alphonso, kneeling, started cleaning Bruce's head with an antiseptic cloth.

"Didn't know that was another word for a block of concrete," Harley retorted. "Your idiots might've killed a prime resource."

"Bah. We don't need his money!"

"We do need fun toys like the phalanx key! So do me a favor: if he wakes up, try to be yer least gruff self. We don't need anything else discouragin' him from stickin' around."

"And, uh, if he doesn't wake up?" Raj asked.

John squeaked.

Bane let out a thoughtful hum and looked to Tim. "Go tell Freeze we may have a body for his tests."

"Oh ho, hold on!" John exclaimed, voice cracking. "He is _not_ dead yet."

Alphonso glanced up. "Yeah, not yet."

John snatched the cloth and pushed Alphonso away. "Pessimism is not good for treatment!" He crouched and finished cleaning the wound the best he could. It wasn't as bad as it had first looked; now it just looked medium bad. Blood kept welling to the surface, so he grabbed a roll of gauze from the box at his feet and started to wrap Bruce's head.

Raj fidgeted. "Well, I guess if he dies, let us know?"

John glowered at him. "You'll know."

Raj flinched back, then tugged Tim's sleeve. "Yeah, let's go do that thing with the guys," he said, pointing at nothing in particular. Alphonso left the house to run off with them.

A pleased smile came to Bane's face. "You need more of that energy, John. When your enemies feel your anger, it enhances your power over them."

"Oh, brother," Harley sighed. She patted the back of John's head. "Death is inevitable for everyone, puddin'. Try not to take it so hard."

John was not in the mood to appreciate any of this advice, even if it came with physical contact from Harley. He actually felt the urge to start shouting, but then Bruce groaned. John paused in his wrapping and held his friend's head still. "Buddy?"

Bruce's eyes cracked open. He blinked slowly at the ceiling.

"Okay, now blink twice if you think you have brain damage."

Bruce turned his head slightly and squinted at him. "I know you," he mumbled.

"Uh, yeah, you do?"

Harley snapped her fingers in front of Bruce's face. His eyes moved to her on the third snap, but his stare was blank. "You all there, Bruce?" she asked.

"Bruce," he repeated.

"That's yer name, don't wear it out."

"I don't..." He brought a hand out from under the blanket to prod at the bandage.

"Ah, let me tie this off," John said, wrapping the gauze a couple more times. He held the tail end in place with his right hand and rummaged in the first aid box with his left.

When he found the tape, he looked up just as Bruce reached over touch his hair. "It's not a wig," Bruce said.

John bristled. "Of course not." He fumbled with the tape one-handedly and tore off a strip with his teeth. "Did you think Arkham let us keep wigs?"

Bruce's arm returned to his side as John secured the gauze. "Who's Arkham?"

"Who...?"

"Oh, criminy." Harley smacked her forehead. "Bruce, do you know who we are?"

The patient glanced from her to John.

Bane leaned into the window. "How about who _you_ are?"

A blink and a frown.

"Well, that's great," Harley said. "Now I got two amnesiacs." Bane started laughing and she glared at him.

John settled on his knees. "Well, that's... not ideal."

"Hopefully it's temporary."

"But I recognize you," Bruce said to John.

"John's got a distinctive look," Harley said. "What about me?" she asked, popping a hip and smirking.

Bruce shook his head.

Her smile vanished. "I'll pretend I ain't offended on account of yer injury."

Bane dismissively waved a hand over Bruce. "Pah! Even less useful now."

"You worry about your guys, and I'll worry about mine."

"And what a couple they are, flailing around with no memories."

"Couple?" Bruce cocked his head and looked at John. "Are you my boyfriend?"

Laughter burst from John's mouth. "What a question!"

"Yeah," Harley said thoughtfully. Then with cheer, she added. "Why else do you think you recognize him?"

John looked up at her. "Uh..."

"That's one way to know he's got real feelins, eh, John?" she said sweetly.

John looked back to Bruce, who was carefully touching his head dressing and smiling appreciatively. "Uh..."

"I guess another way is good medical care," Bruce chuckled.

"Uh..." John looked back up at Harley.

She rolled her eyes and pointed her thumb at the door. "Lemme talk to ya real quick, before you get Brucie up to speed."

John followed her out to the meeting square. Bane came along, looking very entertained.

They were out of earshot of the ha-hacienda, but John still felt like his whisper was too loud. "What's going on?"

"Listen, puddin'. Bruce has got the pedigree, and he's got the will to steal from his own company, but he still makes me antsy, with his offense at us messin' around with his people."

"So he's got a different sense of humor. What does that have to do with...?"

"I just feel better about him workin' with us if he feels more attached," she said, pinching John's cheek. "And he clearly wasn't lyin' about likin' your mug if he remembers you over me."

"He can be attached to a friend. And friends don't lie, Harley. I told Bruce I wouldn't lie!"

"Oh, jeez, lyin' is life. You been out long enough to know that. 'There is a Santa Claus!' 'Be good and you'll go to Heaven!' 'Everything's gonna be okay!'"

"Some things can be different..."

Bane folded his arms. "I am enjoying this zany plan of Harley's," he said, "but there is honor in what John says."

Harley shot him a bored look. "Don't you have some cars to benchpress?"

"No."

She rolled her eyes and returned to John. "You win two ways here. Ya get to keep me happy and ya can make Bruce happy."

"But I... I don't know how..."

"Just be yer sweet self and go with the flow. I mean, you don't think you can really hurt a guy like that, do ya?"

"Alright," John said uneasily.

She swatted him on the back. "Now get back in there!" As he walked away, she added, "Uh, tell him he fell down the stairs gettin' down here."

Behind his back, John nervously rubbed his thumb into his opposite wrist. This was not at all how this day was supposed to go. He was supposed to introduce super-cool, super-charming Bruce Wayne to the Pact, impress everyone with his unexpected connection, and be that much closer to having Harley as his partner, not Bruce.

Not that Bruce was a bad partner, with the previously mentioned super coolness and super charm, plus the stormy blue eyes, the confident strength, the subdued smile that John was desperate to break into a grin...

What was John thinking about again?

Oh, right, he remembered as he reached the door. The lying. He swallowed and slunk back in.

Bruce was sitting up now, in his ruddy brown shirt. His jacket lay on the floor. He had his wallet in his lap and John's phone in his hand. "I can't get into mine," he explained.

"Yeah, I guess not," John said, pulling over the wheelchair and sitting.

"I searched my name," Bruce said, his eyes a little wide. "I'm really rich."

John laughed. "Oh, unbelievably!"

"I saw the black-level credit card, but still."

"I can't even apply for entry-level," John giggled.

"I think I'm also bad?"

"Oh, heh, I guess your dad would be near the top of the results, yeah."

"The authorities could never prove how much I knew about his connections. And I was committed to Arkham Asylum for violent behavior, and people say I bought my way out in a day." Bruce frowned at the screen. "I know I don't remember, but... but that doesn't feel..."

"Oh, we're criminals, Bruce," John said assuringly. "You hotwired a car for me just yesterday. And you were saying how dull life is and that you need some thrills, so you're going to help out our little organization."

"Oh." Bruce didn't look comforted by certainty. "I guess you're the one who would know."

"Yeah, I..." John shook his head. "Bruce, what Harley said, it's not exactly... We reconnected a few days ago at your friend's funeral."

Bruce nodded slowly. "You mentioned Arkham. I met you there?"

"That's right!" John said. Even with a massive head injury, Bruce was still quick on the uptake. "We became fast friends."

"And we met again at the funeral for Fox... whoever he is." The corners of Bruce's mouth quirked up. "Sounds like a hell of a re-meet-cute."

Oh, Bruce still thought...

"Is that why you seem so nervous? New relationship jitters? With a guy who can't even remember?"

Bruce was looking at him with such unbelievable understanding. John wanted to tell the truth, but what came out was, "Heh, yeah, you got me. Plus being in Arkham so long and all, I'd be nervous even if you hadn't taken a header down those stairs." He tangled his fingers together. "'Cause that's what happened. To your head. Trip. Boom. Crack."

Bruce touched the bandage again. "Well, while you take care of me, we can just start off nice and slow, I guess." With that soft smile, he reached for John.

John took his hand with a grin, which faded when he remembered that the last time they'd touched had been the pinky swear. Trust was the foundation of a relationship, so what was he doing? But maybe he could make up for it? "Whatever you need," he blurted out. "Just ask."

"Thanks, John." Bruce leaned over and kissed the back of John's hand, then laughed. "I know, that's the cheesy kind of slow. Sorry."

A tingling sensation shot up John's arm, and something fluffy rolled around in his stomach. He wanted to tell Bruce to not be sorry, but it felt like if he opened his mouth, the fluff would escape.

"John!" Harley shouted from outside, and the feeling disintegrated.

Bruce let go of his hand. "The boss calls. She's the boss, right?"

John jerkily got up. "Oh, yeah, you can tell right? Haha-- oops!" Backing away, he'd tripped over one of the chair's footplates. He pushed the chair to the wall and laughed at himself too loud as he resumed backing up. "So clumsy, you know me! Well, I guess you don't, but you will. Slowly. Like you said-- oh!" He'd collided with the door, which bounced open, and he would've fallen on his ass if he hadn't caught the frame. "I'll be back!" he said with a big smile as he stumbled out of the room and away from Bruce's impossibly fond expression.


	2. Dinner Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been stressed so more cheesiness was in order!

Harley asked John if he was the one who had been chilling beer behind Nora Fries's giant frozen test tube. John truthfully told her no; what he did not tell her, because she didn't ask, was that he had joked about it in front of a bunch of Bane's cronies and that's where they'd gotten the idea.

Speaking of the goons, Harley mentioned that as far as they knew, the only problem with Bruce's memory was that he didn't remember how he really got down here. And they didn't need to know any different. Since Bane already knew about the memory loss, though, she'd fill in Freeze as well.

When John returned to the hacienda, he let Bruce know the same and gave him a clearer rundown of the situation. Their group, the Pact, consisted of John, Harley, Bane, and Freeze. Another member, the Riddler, had gone and gotten himself killed. Bruce had been invited to join up before that, but now he was kind of a replacement. He'd escorted Harley and John into Wayne Enterprises earlier that day to nick some nifty hardware, and he was here now to continue helping them work toward a major heist-- which John was not allowed to say more about.

"Don't you trust me?" Bruce asked.

"Sure, I do." John said. "But Harley doesn't, not yet, and she's the boss. But, uh, don't tell Bane that."

Bruce did not look happy, but he nodded. "Going to be extra work to gain more of her trust now. I can't get more out of Wayne Enterprises if I can't hold a conversation with people I should know."

In fact, he explained, it would be best if he laid low in Old Five Points for a while, not only until he could walk around without getting dizzy or a headache, but until his memory came back. A billionaire's obvious memory loss was bound to be investigated by the authorities, and that was definitely not a complication they needed.

"Though I'm not sure how to explain my disappearance..."

"Oh, that's easy!" John chirped. "It's been in the tabloids here and there. You vanish for a day or two, or over a week once, and it would be revealed" --he waved his hands in the air-- "that you'd been on a retreat with some guru who scams rich people or off in some secret Illuminati sex party or whatever."

Bruce made a face. "I'm hoping for 'whatever.'"

"Maybe it was actually corporate crime stuff," John offered. "But you've got lots of cover stories available. The only other wrinkle I can think of is you have a butler who's been with your family since you were a kid. He must be used to you disappearing, though. He probably won't think anything is wrong for a while."

"Do you think he knows about what I'm really doing?"

"I guess we should wait for you to remember that one."

Bruce nodded in agreement. "So in any case, it wouldn't really be suspicious for me to use this credit card."

"For what?"

"To replace these pallets with an air mattress for us to sleep on."

John couldn't blush, but he definitely felt warm. "Oh, I don't mind taking the floor."

"This is your place. You shouldn't sleep on the floor."

"I don't mind. The beds in Arkham might as well have been the floor."

"I mind. You're not a pet."

Harley had John sleep on the ground when they were still at the funhouse, so it didn't seem that odd to him. "I dunno, wouldn't a prospective crime lord prefer to monopolize a bed?"

"Not this one." Bruce's eyes lit up with realization. "Unless you're uncomfortable with sharing a bed? Is that what you're getting at? We don't have to."

Was John uncomfortable? It was certainly... different. "I've never shared a bed."

"We can get two twins," Bruce suggested.

Harley wanted Bruce to be attached. They couldn't be attached in two separate beds. "Well, I mean, one bed would... you know... maximize the space in here."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at John's reversal, then shot him a knowing look. "Oh, well, we wouldn't want to not do that."

John coughed extensively, glancing around and taking his phone off the dresser. "Let's see what we can order. I think one of Bane's guys has arranged a spot for mail drops."

"I can't see from here." Bruce shifted so he sat with his back against the wall and his legs over the bed's edge. "Sit next to me."

"Yeah, of course, right," John said. Simple thing it was, sitting down, side by side. No big deal at all. Bruce's arm casually winding around his waist? Perfectly usual expected thing. Why was John's heart rate speeding up?

It slowed back down as John got used to the warmth pressed against his side and the two men focused on their mission. They settled on a plain hunter green full-sized air mattress-- or rather, John settled on it after Bruce vetoed the pink and purple glitter one. Then they realized Bruce would need a few changes of clothes, and Bruce was all plain Jane on that front, too.

"I think you have the colorful front handled," Bruce said, ruffling his hair.

The sensation on John's scalp traveled down his spine. With what must have been his millionth nervous laugh, he took his phone to ask Raj what address to enter for delivery.

On his way back, Harley announced "LIGHTS OUT!" from her perch. "The package" was staying put for tonight, according to her source, and she wanted everyone fresh and ready the next day.

"So no one stay up too late," she finished, smirking and winking at John.

Normally he liked that look from her, but normally it came from poking fun at someone else. And what was she poking fun at John for? Did she think he couldn't do this? Why? He'd done fine so far. In tricking Bruce. Like a lying liar.

Agitated, he re-entered the hacienda, where Bruce was drawing the curtains around the perimeter. Out in the station, a number of the scattered lights were turned off or dimmed.

"Everything ordered?" Bruce asked.

John had trouble looking at him. "Yeah. Tonight it's the floor, though." He held up a hand to stop Bruce's protest. "Dr. Leland would not put a patient on the ground."

Bruce glanced up as if he could see the white gauze around his head. "Okay, but you get the sleeping bag. I'll just use the mat and the blanket."

It was a deal. After switching off all but the string lights, John tossed the sleeping bag to the floor and took off his vest. He typically slept in his clothes given the chill down here. Apparently Bruce was on the warm side, because he pulled off both his red shirt and the thin white tank he had on underneath.

And geez Louise! John knew he was staring but couldn't look away. Bruce had the same physique as any number of Greek gods illustrated in the books John had read. Every muscle was clearly defined, even with multiple scars crossing from one to the other. Bruce could probably bench press John with no problem. And hold John down with no problem. In whatever scenario that would be.

"Whoa," John said.

Bruce glanced up. "Yeah, what the heck have I been doing?"

He was talking about the scars, John realized. "Uh, yeah. Some of those look fresh." There's no way all of those were caused by Bane's guys fumbling to get Bruce under control.

He stopped thinking about that when Bruce unbuckled his belt to remove his pants. John practically threw himself to the floor to very busily arrange the sleeping bag.

"My coat might make a good pillow," Bruce offered, over the sound of the pallets shifting under his weight.

"Yes, great idea," John said, not looking up. Yes, some men slept in their underwear, indeed. Nothing remarkable about that, no sir. He grabbed the leather jacket and rolled it up, then shimmied into the sleeping bag. He curled up on his side, facing away from Bruce with his cheek resting on the coat.

"Good night, John," Bruce said.

"Night," John replied, his voice cracking.

He drifted to sleep more easily than he thought he would. The leather of Bruce's coat was softer than it looked.

* * *

The next morning, John was woken unceremoniously by a crash. Bruce-- back in his pants and undershirt, sadly (sadly?)-- had knocked into the bookshelf at the bottom of the bed. John was at his side and leading him back to the bed in an instant.

"Walk much with a head injury, buddy?" John giggled.

"Guess not," Bruce murmured, obediently sitting. He closed his eyes. "It seemed better, but then the room started spinning."

"One of the top complaints at Arkham," John said. He looked at Bruce's bandages. There was only a small blotch of red where Raj had cinder-blocked him. "I guess I should rewrap your head?"

There was a steady knocking at the door. John opened it, and Freeze was there. He looked from John to Bruce, and said, "Am I interrupting fledgling relationship activity?"

"What?" John looked down at his disheveled clothing, then back to Bruce's half-dressed state, plus the jacket, vest, and shoes on the floor. "Ah, ha ha, no, we just woke up. No activity but sleep here." He leaned super casually against the door frame. "What's up?"

"I have the misfortune of being the closest to a medical doctor we have, so I've been asked to evaluate Wayne," Freeze said.

"Okay," Bruce agreed.

"But I am not a medical doctor. I will look for obvious symptoms, but if you die from internal hemorrhaging, my only concern is if your corpse is in my way."

"... Okay."

Bruce stayed on the bed while Freeze performed some basic evaluations and asked questions about his cognitive functions. Bruce reported no headache or nausea, and Freeze commented on the coherence of his speech and proficient coordination. He nodded dispassionately when Bruce brought up the dizziness.

"My recommendation is that you stay in bed rest for another day," Freeze concluded. "If you do not follow that recommendation, it's your concern. If my recommendation turns out to be poor, I do not care."

Bruce nodded and gave him a half-hearted thumbs up. "Got it."

"So," John said, "do you want to supervise while I redo the ban-- aaaaaand he's gone." Freeze's exit left the door swinging on its hinges.

"That man was blue," Bruce said.

"Yeah, and so's his skin," John snickered as he retrieved the first aid kit from the floor.

"You told me about him last night, but..."

"Don't you hate unnatural skin colors?"

"No!" Bruce exclaimed. "Of course I..." He noticed John's grin. "But you already knew that."

The gash on the side of Bruce's head was still a gash, but it looked no worse than yesterday. John whistled over the sound of Bruce's hissing while wiping the wound with antiseptic and winding fresh gauze around Bruce's head. John dusted nothing off his hands as he evaluated his work.

"I'm getting pretty good at this!"

"Given our life choices, I'm glad." Bruce flashed another smile. "So what's on the agenda today?"

John's mood dipped. "Well, really most days are humdrum," he said. "I have chores. Later, though, I--"

"Oh, nonsense!"

John almost jumped out of his skin. Harley had pulled back the drapes of the bedside window closest to the door and smiled at them brightly.

"We can't have poor little Brucie left unoccupied!" she said, winking at John.

John knew what she was hinting at in theory, but he had absolutely no idea how to move from theory to practice. He'd gotten by in Arkham with a deep well of defensive aggression; the well of romance... it wasn't even a well. It was a puddle.

He tried for avoidance. "I can still--"

"Nah, Bane's got plenty of mooks who can clean toilets," Harley said. She called back over her shoulder. "Hey, you! Yeah, blondie!"

"My name," an irritated voice shouted back, "is Dmitri."

"Well, congrats, Dmitri! You are now on cleanup duty!"

"But... but!" Dmitri's protests were drowned out by his fellows' mocking remarks.

Harley lifted a shoulder in an easy-going gesture. "All taken care of. You two have fun now."

"Sure," John said weakly as she dropped the curtain. "Right."

But whatever Bruce's expectations, they were not the same as Harley's. He asked John to open the curtains so he didn't feel so closed off, and then they just sat and pieced together Bruce's past via internet searches and the trivia stored in John's brain. Bruce made the point that a lot of the tabloid stuff was probably not true. He shook his head, laughing, when John said that at this point, Bruce could decide that they were, if he secretly liked any of those bits.

John noticed that Bruce didn't linger on any of the pictures showing him on dates with slinky models or proud debutantes or poised executives. Not that he noticed for a reason or anything. But Bruce's lack of interest in those made his interest in John's wall of photos stand out.

"What are the blank spots for?"

"Oh, well, that one on the left is for Batman," John said.

"Who?"

"Who?!"

John sprang to his feet and launched into a breathless, animated explanation of Gotham's famed vigilante. He dressed like a giant bat and wringed justice from the criminals of the city with stealth, intimidation, and strength. He had one rule: he never killed anyone. You'd think that would stunt his effectiveness, but he was still amazing, and John knew this because he'd seen him in person back in Arkham. He'd even almost shaken Batman's hand, but the crime fighter had been busy pursuing a cult leader at the time. What are you gonna do?

"Batman was there the night Riddler was killed, actually," John finished. "He's probably looking for who did it, even though Riddler was a total jerk."

"He does sound pretty cool," Bruce said. They may have been the first words he'd gotten in during the past forty-five minutes. "Should I be jealous?"

"Uh, what?"

"I'm just saying, you sound pretty into this guy," Bruce said, looking to the side, like he actually was jealous.

And John knew he was teasing, but... "Well, who couldn't go on and on about someone so thrilling?"

"He fights crime, though. And we're in crime. Would you be excited if he fought me? When I can walk again, to give me a fair shot."

John considered it, then pictured it. For a while. To account for all the details, of course.

Bruce waved a hand in front of the other man's face. "John?"

"I would like to be there," John said, dazed.

"Heh, maybe one day you'll get the chance." Bruce gestured to the wall again. "You don't have a photo of me either."

John glanced over at the other empty frame, in the center of all the others. _Because you got upset I tried to take a selfie at a funeral._ That humiliated feeling bubbled up and he tried to shove it back down. "I, uh, I guess we haven't had the chance," he said, preoccupied with how his fingers twisted together.

"Let's take one now." Bruce winked when John looked up at him. "It'll give me a leg up on this Batman guy."

"Y-yeah, sure." John picked up his phone from where he'd left it next to the sleeping bag.

When he sat back on the bed, Bruce held him close around the waist. "Do we say cheese?" he asked as John raised the phone in front of them. "Or should we just think about how I would definitely kick Batman's ass?"

John let out a cackle and snapped the picture. "I look forward to using my first aid skills again," he said as he lowered his phone to check the image. It was perfect: his own bright smile beside Bruce's post-joke smirk. He turned to Bruce to say it was his new background, and Bruce's expression hadn't changed, and John had forgotten how close his face was...

Ding! John looked back at his phone; a notification had popped up. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Our stuff was just delivered."

"Let's go get it then," Bruce said.

"Nuh uh." John waved a finger in his face. "You gotta stay in bed."

Bruce settled back against the wall. "I'm getting antsy staying in one spot."

"True. Can't fight Batman with atrophied muscles," John said as he turned on his knees to look out the window. A bunch of Bane's men were looking at the map in the meeting area. John called for volunteers to come with him for package retrieval.

"We're not just a bunch of gofers," Raj shouted back. "We have real skills."

Bruce held up his black credit card. "You can get whatever you want for dinner."

Raj was at the window in an instant. "We're at your service, sir," he said with a little bow.

"Bring back tacos or I'll put yer lights out!" Harley yelled from above.

"Yes, ma'am!" Raj called back as he reached for the card.

John took it first. "I'll be the point person for this, thank you." He ignored Raj's pout and tucked the card into his vest. "We'll be back in a jiffy," he told Bruce.

They were just picking up packages and getting some grub, but with Raj and three other men literally following him, John almost felt like he was leading his own criminal escapade. On their way out, they crossed paths with Dmitri, who carried a bucket of cleaners and rags.

He glared at John and sneered at the others. "Running errands for the socialite idiot now?"

"The guy runs a major company," Raj said.

"You believe that? Those people all got secretaries and VPs and whoever else really running the show."

"Well, seems like John's the secretary, so you're still outranked."

John grinned and held the door open for the other men, all laughing. "Really scrub at the rings in the urinals," he said over their heads to Dmitri. "They're unsightly!"

He dashed out in time for the bucket to hit the door instead.

* * *

They were back in a couple hours, three of the men carrying cardboard packages of varying sizes and Raj lugging plastic bags of fast food. John led the way with several more bags hanging along his outstretched arms. Elite credit card or no, they were supposed to keep low-key. But they were not a picky bunch, so over-ordering at about a dozen different fast food and fast casual eateries was novel enough.

"Chow time!" John announced, his voice echoing from wall to wall.

While John's compatriots piled the packages next to the hacienda door, everyone else drifted toward the center of the station. One of the goons carried over a case of beer and a couple more pushed some crates over. John let the bags slide off his arms onto the makeshift table. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and he snatched up one particular Taco Gordo bag before turning to face Harley.

"Extra guac like always," John said, handing it over.

She patted his cheek. "You're the most reliable chump in this place."

"You know it!" John proudly planted his fists on his hips. "We even got Freeze's salad!"

"Looks like you _and_ Bruce will get his nod of approval today." She gestured to the meeting area.

"Huh?" John looked over the heads of the scavenging goons to see Bruce and Freeze crouching by the EMP generator. They were engaged in conversation. "Freeze is the one who said he's supposed to be in bed."

Harley wrinkled her nose. "Who wants to be stuck in bed all day? Anyway, seems like his memory really will come back in the end. He remembers how to work that thing, at least, which is good."

"Yeah," John said, turning back to her, "or no. He's going to remember that he never thought of me as a boyfriend!"

"We'll burn that bridge when we come to it," Harley replied with a shrug.

John wasn't sure what she meant by that exactly, and he didn't really want to ask. He watched Bruce and worried his bottom lip, until he noticed Dmitri coming past the steps with the push broom. Dmitri shot him a dirty look and John stuck out his tongue.

"Bah!" Bane groaned. The men had cleared the way for him to inspect the bags, and he'd found the clear container with the salad. "Freeze, come get your rabbit food before we feed it to the rats."

"I don't believe rats enjoy arugula," Freeze said as he and Bruce got to their feet.

"Then congratulations," Bane said, handing the salad off to one of his men. "You have worse taste than a rat."

John snickered, and he caught sight of Bruce chuckling too, as he came down the stairs. Then he saw Dmitri backtracking with his broom, ever so casually swinging around so the handle crossed the path of Bruce's legs.

And Bruce kicked the broom up, high enough that he grabbed the handle with his right hand. He wrenched it away from Dmitri, then jabbed it back right into his stomach. Surprised shouts and laughs went up from the group. Dmitri clutched his stomach, his eyes shining with angry tears.

John didn't laugh, because he was fixated on how Bruce seemed as surprised as anyone.

Then Dmitri burst forward, drawing back his arm for a punch, but Bruce caught his hand easily and didn't let go. John trotted around the assembly so he could get a closer look. Bruce's fingers dug into Dmitri's fist and scraped a strangled sound from his throat.

"Do you have a problem with me?" Bruce asked with a glare.

Dmitri glanced around and made the error of trying to maintain his dignity. "Maybe I do!"

With a swift maneuver, Bruce was suddenly behind Dmitri, one hand on his left shoulder and the other bending his right arm back in a way that was not quite right. Excitement jumped in John's gut.

"Are you sure?" Bruce asked.

"No, sir," Dmitri squeaked.

John clasped his hands together. "'Sir' is right!" he laughed.

"What are you, his cheerleader?" Dmitri gasped.

Bruce tugged the arm and Dmitri's knees buckled. "Are you being rude to John?"

"I think he is!" John said with mock offense. There was real offense, too, but this had gotten fun very quickly. The other guys were now lined up to watch while munching on burgers and tacos. Harley, Bane, and Freeze-- salad now in hand-- watched from afar.

"You know," Bruce said with mock thoughtfulness, "I may be a socialite idiot" --Dmitri's eyes widened; he clearly didn't think his voice had carried-- "but I get it. I see the other socialites and the corporate assholes and how they treat people in menial jobs. I know it's not rewarding to perform work that is necessary and be treated like garbage or a ghost for it."

Dmitri suddenly tried to jerk away, but Bruce's hands were locked tight.

Bruce went on like nothing had happened. "But if you have such an aggressive attitude toward your work colleagues, who is going to want to move you up, Dmitri? Where is your sense of comradery? Is that something you can work on, do you think?"

"I should've gone into Human Resources," someone murmured in the audience.

Dmitri breathed tightly, and he stared at the ground as he hissed something through his teeth.

John cupped a hand behind his ear. "What was that?"

"Sor..." Dmitri swallowed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne."

"That's nice," Bruce said, "but more importantly?"

Dmitri's eyes flashed to John, then back down again. "I'm sorry, John."

"What do you think, John?"

John rubbed his hands together. "Oh, I dunno. How can we be sure he's genuine?"

"I guess he'll have to demonstrate it when I let him go," Bruce said.

"Let him go?" John blinked.

"This is more than enough of a warning." Bruce flicked the back of Dmitri's ear. "Unless he disagrees."

"I do not disagree with you, Mr. Wayne," came Dmitri's strained voice.

Bruce scanned the onlookers. "Does anyone else have anything to say?"

Everyone shook their heads as they chewed. Tim raised a beer bottle in a sort of salute and the others followed suit.

"Great." Bruce let go of Dmitri's arm and gave him a shove. As Dmitri recovered his footing, Bruce pulled a wrapped burrito out of the food pile and tossed it over. Dmitri caught it reflexively. "Keep your mouth better occupied," Bruce said.

Dmitri threw the burrito on the floor and stalked off to the mocking "oooh" of the other men.

"I'm givin' ya five minutes to lick yer wounds," Harley called after him. "Then clean that up!"

Bruce grabbed a couple bags and gestured to the hacienda. "Back to bed rest?" he said to John.

John followed him inside. Bruce sat carefully on the floor and closed his eyes.

"Dizzy?" John asked.

"Just a little."

"Sometimes doctors' orders are more right than you want them to be." John sat next to him and opened the food bags. "You're not like all the other criminals," he mused, considering his dinner options.

Bruce opened one eye. "In a good way?"

"Well, yeah, not following through on a maiming is a 'good,' noncriminal trait, per my understanding."

"Why should crime necessitate maiming? I made my point, didn't I?"

"Ha! You sure did!" John tossed a bundled fried chicken sandwich in the air. When he caught it, he paused. "I guess you're like Batman in that way."

"Thank goodness. I was starting to think I'd lost some esteem in your eyes."

"I just expected you'd be more vicious, like your dad. This does explain the lack of mysteriously missing persons in your history, compared with his..."

"Maybe I didn't want to be entirely like him."

"Well, you're definitely on your way. I doubt he had dinner dates with Arkham patients."

Bruce chuckled. "Aw, is this our first date?"

John frowned at the grease-stained wrapper in his hand. "I guess. Good thing you can't remember what you're used to."

"I wonder if I kiss on the first date."

"Heh, why-- oh." John glanced at Bruce's hand as it rested on his shoulder. He barely noticed his sandwich tumble to the floor.

"Do you?" Bruce pressed.

John swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, but he wasn't sure how to answer since he'd never been on another date. But if this was a date, it was the time to set a policy, he supposed. And that policy was apparently: "Let's try it?"

Bruce leaned over and pressed his lips to John's for a moment, and they were warm and soft, and John could barely hear the conversations just outside the door. Bruce pulled away, but that had seemed easy enough, so John pulled him back. This time Bruce's mouth moved, coaxing John to open his, and that was easy enough, too. The sensation of Bruce's tongue was strange-- to be tasting someone and for someone to taste him-- but not unpleasant. At all.

Bruce pulled back, laughing. "Seems like a good try."

John blinked owlishly, realizing his hands were still around Bruce's neck. For a time he had forgotten where he was, who he was. He always felt so scrambled, but there with Bruce he'd found a real focus, one point that drew him in instead of several stretching him in all directions. 

Though what he said was: "Wowza."


	3. Love Triangle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes a lot of places. But the Pact definitely remains a Very Serious organization.
> 
>  
> 
> **UPDATE (Oct 1): See the End Note for FANART *flails***

Usually the chill of Old Five Points was barely tolerable under his blanket, but for the first time John woke up encased in warmth, cozy as could be. He didn't feel restricted by his clothes, and the pallets seemed to have turned to marshmallow, like he was sleeping on air.

... Because of the air mattress now on top of the pallets. And because he was wearing just his underwear and one of the undershirts Bruce had ordered.

Right.

John opened his eyes. He typically slept curled up on his side; what was not typical was the broad body melding to the curve of his back and the muscled arm wrapped around his stomach. John's own forearm laid over Bruce's as if to hold it in place. He could tell it wasn't morning because he couldn't hear anyone moving out in the station. There was only Bruce softly breathing into his hair.

As John had understood it, he was supposed to be pretending. But what about this was pretend? Bruce liked him. He liked Bruce. They kissed. You can't fake kiss someone. That was all real.

And it was nice. It was straightforward. It wasn't like his relationship with Harley, whatever you could call it. Confusing? Yeah. Sometimes she dropped hints that she liked him in _that way_ , but in the next moment she would push him away, so maybe she didn't? She did enjoy messing with people. That was something John liked about her.

Well. Until she messed with _him_ , like the teasing yesterday. Maybe he didn't like that quality so much.

Maybe he didn't like...

Whoa, was his brain derailing or what? If Harley hadn't pulled him out of that funk at Arkham, he might not even be here. "Here" as in feeling the muscles in Bruce's arm, and "here" as in on the planet. She was his guiding light.

... But then Bruce had some light, too, evident by how he felt warm like the sun. John twisted around so he could bury his face in Bruce's chest.

Bruce stirred and murmured, "You okay?"

"Mm hm." This was still sleeping time, John decided, so no more thinking time.

He felt Bruce settle back into sleep and followed after him.

* * *

Morning was signaled by the sound of Bane whaling on his tires. John yawned and moved to get out of bed, only for Bruce's arm to lock around his waist.

"Too early," Bruce muttered.

"Not really," John said. "Bane starts up at like eight."

"Sounds early."

"I guess if you're a coddled CEO," John said in his best imitation of Bane, "with hands soft like pillows." 

Bruce snorted and let John go. "These scars prove otherwise. I think."

John swung his legs over the side of the bed and glanced at Bruce. He felt a sudden impulse and leaned in, kissing Bruce's cheek.

Bruce popped one eye open and smiled. "See, that's a wake-up."

They ate cold toaster pastries from John's stash while Bruce tried to unlock his phone using various dates and key words from his web-searched past. Bruce was still at it when John left to brush his teeth in the rundown men's room.

On the bookshelf, the cup holding John's toothbrush and toothpaste now sat next to a cup and brush they'd ordered for Bruce. John felt an odd pleasantness looking at them, and he hummed a little when he grabbed his cup and shouldered out the door.

He came face to face with Harley. "Oh! Good morning!"

"Mornin', puddin'," she cooed. "Did he give you his letterman jacket?"

John cocked his head. "No, we didn't need it." They could hang Bruce's jacket up now that they had the mattress.

"How's he gonna let people know you're taken, then?" she teased.

"I mean, _I_ know well enough," he said with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his head.

"What, did you spend the whole evening making out?"

"What? Ha! No. Of course not. How could you do that for hours? You'd have to take breaks. Not that I'd know. What?"

Harley's playfulness evaporated. "Wait." She scrunched up her face. "Did you really?"

"Wait." John reflected her expression. "Are you mad? You told me--"

"I know what I told ya!!" she snapped.

John flinched, but then he drew back his shoulders. "Then what is the problem?" he shot back.

Harley's mouth fell open. "Are you sassin' me?"

"Wha-- no-- I just--" Okay, communication. Dr. Leland talked about how important communication was, and how missteps could blow things up bigger than they needed to be. (Though John thought that was a bad metaphor. The bigger an explosion, the better, right?) "I'm doing what you told me and going with the flow."

"Yeah, but I thought you pro'lly... that you wouldn't... I mean..."

John waited. He could be patient if he could finally get something with Harley cleared up...

She turned sharply and walked away. "Go brush yer freakin' teeth."

... Or he could keep being confused. What else was new?

* * *

In spite of Bruce still needing a head bandage, he seemed recovered. In fact, he felt well enough that after a short period watching Bane's training with his men, he asked to participate. Bane wasn't into killing anyone who hadn't explicitly pissed him off, but he did agree that Bruce could spar with the underlings to help evaluate their skills.

The session quickly devolved into Bane chortling while Bruce took everyone down one by one. John had to be running out of space on his phone with all the videos he was taking. At some point he noticed that Harley had joined him on the steps across from his house. He was sitting down, but she stayed on her feet, her arms folded.

"Not even two minutes against a pampered playboy with probable brain damage!" Bane mocked as Raj hit the ground.

"Hm," Harley said thoughtfully. "Wonder just how faithful a playboy really could be. I think monogamy is just so much more... reassuring, ya know? Call me old-fashioned."

"Um, okay, Old-Fashioned?" John giggled. He zoomed out for the next round. He wanted to see Bruce's full breadth of movement. For... purposes... of a sort...

Who was John kidding? He knew exactly what purposes.

"I'd hope Bruce manhandling all them isn't giving him ideas," Harley said pointedly.

It was giving _John_ ideas, so it seemed likely it would give Bruce some. And John felt sure that Bruce didn't have bad ideas.

"If I thought this was really serious, I'd feel bad for you, if he strayed."

Bruce lifted Tim over his head now and looked over at John with both eyebrows up, as if to ask, "Are you watching?" Ha, what else would John be doing?

"You're doing amazing, Brucie!" he cheered.

Bane was not cheerful. "The aristocrat goes to an office and reads and types all day!" he shouted at Tim. "Perhaps you are waiting for carpal tunnel to take him down?"

John heard Harley walk away, but it didn't bug him. She was a busy lady.

A few minutes later, he felt and heard the clunk of her hammer landing beside him. He looked up and Harley was adjusting her gloves.

"Alrighty," she said, "we can all play the alpha game." She picked the hammer up and propped it on her shoulder.

Oh, great! Quality bonding time for his two favorite people! John stood up; he wanted multiple angles for this.

"You're not afraid to hit a girl, are ya?" Harley asked as she approached Bruce.

Bruce stretched out his neck and shrugged. "If you're up for it, why not?"

Bane picked up a long lead pipe from the various junk that littered the hideout. "We are out of hammers, but let's see how you manage," he said, tossing it over.

"Take it easy with that thing," Bruce reminded Harley as he tested the weight of the pipe. "This is just sparring."

"Oh, Brucie," she replied with an innocent cock to her head. "Don't say yer worried about little ol' me?"

He laughed. "I've gotten the sense that only an idiot wouldn't worry about you." He cocked his own head. "How about first one with their back on the ground loses?"

"Sounds good," Harley said, sweetness gone as she pulled the hammer off her shoulder to grip it in both hands.

In the audience behind John, Alphonso murmured, "I've never seen someone so eager to let Harley murder him."

Psh, John thought. Harley was just playing! Play could get rough sometimes-- and the roughness started right away, with Harley swinging right for Bruce's knee. But Bruce saw it coming and jumped right over it, lashing out his arm to hit her side with his pipe. Harley used the momentum of her swing to spin out of the way, and her hammer came at Bruce again, to his chest this time, giving him enough room to duck.

John's heart thudded in his chest. The clash of two worthy opponents, one virile and tenacious, the other vicious and unpredictable, it was almost too exciting! He circled the scene, catching every dodge and jab and feint and swing. It seemed to go on forever, but considering he didn't want it to end, that was fine.

Suddenly Harley knocked Bruce's pipe away, and dread lurched in John's stomach. But Bruce grabbed for her hammer, and suddenly each of them had both hands on the handle, holding it sideways between them as they struggled back and forth. Then Bruce's foot snagged Harley's ankle, stealing her balance. She fell back, the weight of Bruce and the hammer taking her down. She landed on her butt, so there was a flash of hope, but another push from Bruce laid her flat with the metal rod across her collar bone. She cursed and slammed her heels against the concrete. 

The crowd was not dumb enough to applaud, but John heard several awed murmurs. He grinned happily as he put his phone back in his pocket. That wasn't an event he would forget any time soon! Maybe he could edit it to music later.

Bruce got to his feet, taking the hammer with him. He propped it up on its head and reached down to Harley. "That was a close one," he said goodnaturedly.

She stared at his hand for a moment, hands curling into fists at her sides. Then with a flirty smile, she let him help her up. "Better watch yer back, Moneybags."

When she was on her feet, Bruce turned away and dusted off his clothes. Harley reached for her weapon, and John's inner alarms went off at the sure way both her hands gripped the long handle and the way her eyes locked onto the back of Bruce's head-- and then a long trilling noise sounded. Her dark expression was dispelled, and she reached into her jacket for her phone.

Bruce remained none-the-wiser, shooting John a confused look when he came over. "Is something wrong?"

"Noooo," John said, watching Harley turn and drag the hammer away as she answered the call. Probably not. Harley might've just been about to take the hammer back upstairs to grouse, or maybe slam it into the floor in frustration. Any number of things... He drew up his grin. "Clearly we don't have anything to worry about with all this muscle around."

"I think you could take most of these guys out yourself."

"Heh, probably. I'm not supposed to have that kind of fun, though. I tend to get..." Overly infatuated with violence, Leland called it. "... carried away."

Bruce slung his arm around John's shoulders and leaned in. "Well, I am always up to see you get carried away, if you want to have some fun."

John's brain fizzled and popped. As much as he wanted to say, "yes, okay, now is good," his synapses only managed to spark uncontrollable giggling.

Harley turned back to everyone and held her phone aloft. "Look alive, buddy-boys! The package is on the move!"

The package? The next heist! John clasped his hands together. "Finally!" Bruce could see some real action-- but wait. "Oh, damn, we still have to vote!"

"Vote?" Bruce repeated.

"Yeah," John said, straightening Bruce's clothes and smoothing back his hair. "You're only a bona fide Pact member if the majority gives you the A-OK!" He gnawed on a knuckle as he looked Bruce up and down. "Harley and I want you in, and you're chatty with Freeze which is a good sign, but Bane... maybe you should try punching him in the face. I think he appreciates that kind of attention."

"I think Freeze likes me fine. That should put me over."

"Bruce," John said with a patient look, "Freeze also likes pineapple on pizza. You never know what that guy's thinking."

"What's wrong with that?" Bruce asked, but John pulled him to the meeting platform where Harley, Bane, and Freeze waited.

"Okay, fellas," Harley said. "Is Bruce in or out?"

"Mr. Wayne's technological prowess will be very useful," Freeze said. "I am satisfied with him being a member."

"Yes!" John agreed. How great! With Freeze, the rest was just a formality. "A definite yes from me, too. Bruce's prowess is unmatched!"

"You'd know," Harley murmured. John wasn't sure what that meant, but he didn't like her tone or her body language. Her arms were folded, and she looked at Bruce with a cool expression. "I have high hopes for ya, but I mean, if you can't even walk down a flight of stairs without crackin' yer head open..." She flicked Bruce's forehead, right on the bandage. "It just doesn't inspire confidence you know?"

John's hands curled into fists. That wasn't what happened at all, and everyone here (except Bruce) knew it. She especially knew it! Was she that sore about losing?

"I just took down almost everyone in this place," Bruce said with a frown.

"Yeah, but in the field, against a herd of professionally trained agents instead of these mooks?" she went on. "Maybe after a little more time, but sorry, Brucie. Without Bane, you'll hafta stay in tonight."

Bane tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Hmmm. I think he can do it."

Harley's head whipped around. "What? Yer talkin' about 'the aristocrat'?"

"Those stairs are dark, slippery," he replied with a shrug. "Accidents are bound to happen even with the most careful. And Wayne did not slip up once when fighting you and the men. I would like to see him on the field."

Harley glared at Bane, and he smirked right back.

"So..." John looked from one person to the next. "That's a majority."

"It is," Harley growled.

"All right!" John threw a fist in the air. "Bruce gets shotgun with me!" He looked at Bruce excitedly and got a grin back.

Until Harley said, "No."

John deflated. "But why?"

Bane smiled, which was creepy because he never smiled. "I think Bruce going with John is a good idea."

"It isn't," Harley objected.

"And why?" Bruce echoed John.

"Wayne has more skills than I first gave him credit for," Bane said. "I'm sure John has learned _many_ from him already--"

"Yeah, enough!" Harley snapped. "John comes with me. Bruce goes with you and Freeze." She turned away from the group, ending the conversation.

* * *

John didn't know why Harley wanted him in her truck if she was just going to sit there with her arms crossed and stare out the windshield. Maybe he should say something? But then most of what he'd said to her today just seemed to irritate her. Maybe that's what she wanted, just some peaceful, quiet camaraderie.

Silence. John could do silence.

Sure.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

Counted the seconds at the red light.

Chewed the inside of his cheek.

So far so good.

They passed a billboard for one of the divisions of Wayne Enterprises. "WAYNE BIOTECH," it proclaimed beside a white-coated scientist with a clipboard. "Life is in the details."

The walkie-talkie velcro'd to the dashboard blipped. "What the hell does that even mean?" came Bruce's voice.

John cackled and brought the transceiver to his mouth. "You tell us!"

"I'll have to figure out who to fire later."

Harley snatched the walkie-talkie away. "Can we shut our yaps and stay focused?" she said sharply into the speaker, glaring at John.

John hunched back over the wheel.

"We're approaching the interception site," she said. "Everybody ready?"

"We are ready," Bane responded.

John tried to steady his breathing to quell the butterflies in his stomach. This was the first big operation he'd taken part in, since Harley had wanted to raid the brokerage by herself. Being the driver was a minor part, but he didn't want to screw it up.

"Here at the corner," Harley said. "They're about to come onto this street."

John pulled their truck over to the right; Bane's pulled left. The space between was not enough for a single car to get through, much less the caravan approaching from the other direction. A white van was being escorted by several black sedans. They all pulled to a stop, spreading out across the street.

"Wayne is activating the EMP," Bane said.

All at once, the lights in the buildings, on the street, and from the caravan went dead. Only the lights from the armored trucks remained, illuminating the agents who'd gotten out of their cars as they examined their phones and their zap guns. John giggled and looked over at Harley, and she finally looked happy, too.

"Remember yer part, puddin'," she said. "Time to roll!"

She grabbed her hammer and hopped out of the car. John looked to the left and everyone was streaming out the backs of the trucks toward the befuddled agents. Bruce was in the middle, a black handkerchief pulled up over his face. The bandage around his head was partially covered up by a black flat cap he'd ordered in their shopping spree. Bane handed him a flare, and Bruce struck it on the side of John's door, setting off a brilliant red glow. The flickering light sharpened the angles of his face and glinted in his eyes, making him look delightfully intimidating.

Bruce winked up at him. "Guess I can carry a torch literally, too," he said from beneath his mask.

John grinned back, the butterflies flitting for a different reason now.

Bruce moved forward, flanked by armed goons. "Everybody down if you know what's good for you!" he shouted. The agents, weapons useless, lowered to their knees and on their stomachs before him.

The butterflies fluttered a bit lower at that sight.

Bang! John jolted and looked at Bane, whose fist had dented the truck. "The plan," Bane reminded him.

"Got it!" John said quickly. He put the shifter back in drive and rolled up onto the sidewalk to block in the other side of the scene.

* * *

All in all, the operation succeeded and the Pact acquired their goal: a long rectangular capsule from the Agency van. There was a minor hitch when the agents got it in their heads to fight back, and Harley and Bane saw fit to put a couple of them down. There would have been more casualties if Bruce hadn't stepped in to warn the other agents-- verbally and violently-- to back down. There'd been a concern that the power outage would prompt reinforcements to show up, but none did, and the whole crew got away clean.

They had a mini parade coming back into Old Five Points. Bane led the way with four men carrying in the package. Bruce followed behind with John, who swung their joined hands back and forth. Harley and Freeze came last.

"And then Freeze iced over the door," John recounted excitedly, wishing they could relive every moment, "and then you smashed it-- POW!" He raised both arms, lifting Bruce's hand up too.

Harley broke between them, knocking their hands apart with her hammer, not as lightly as she could have. "You really are a bit squeamish about death, eh, Brucie?" she said.

"Eh," Bane said over his shoulder, "Wayne is a romantic, like the great heroes... only criminal, of course."

Harley grimaced and muttered, "The hell is going on around this joint..."

The capsule was placed at the head of the steps in the meeting area, and Bane stood behind it. "Well done, men!" he proclaimed.

Harley coughed as she and Freeze joined him.

"And lady!" he added.

"So what did we win?" Bruce asked. He and John stood on the opposite side of the capsule on the top stair.

"See for yerself," Harley said, tossing the phalanx key to him.

Bruce caught it even with the short warning, and John found himself wanting to laugh at Harley's annoyed pout. Bruce knelt down and fiddled with the key. Soon enough the box clicked and beeped and whirred, and its lid and a side flap swung open.

"Well," Bruce said after a moment. "This is not what I expected."

John elbowed his side. "I bet he didn't expect it either!" he snickered at the preserved body below them. "That's Riddler."

Bruce considered the body a bit longer, then looked at John. "He does look pretty rude."

"And dumb."

"So why did we steal him?"

"Eddie had a history with the Agency," Harley said, "and the real heist is acquirin' a little somethin' from them."

"Let me guess. I'm not allowed to know what that something is yet."

"Nope!" she said cheerfully.

John shot Bruce an apologetic look.

"But I will tell ya," Harley conceded, "that we need Eddie's sorry meat sack because it's his retinas that'll unlock certain pathways fer us."

"We're not... dragging around..."

John guffawed. "What a ventriloquist act!"

Harley snorted. "No, Brucie. We got an acquaintance who can scan his eyes and create special goggles. I notified her that we need her services, but it's hard to tell when she'll show up." She shrugged. "Ya know how cats are."

"Cats?" Bruce repeated.

The question hadn't been louder than Raj, who said, "Soooo if we're gonna be waiting around, can we relax a bit? Like with beer?"

"Ah," Bane said magnanimously, "several, in celebration!"

Tim looked pointedly at Bruce. "And with pizza?"

With a roll of his eyes, Bruce smiled. "Draw up the order."

The men cheered at the benevolence of their overlords and dispersed. Freeze examined the capsule and pressed a button that caused it to fold back up.

"Sorry, friend," Bane said to Riddler as he disappeared from sight, "but we must keep you sealed for freshness, after all."

Several cases of beer appeared, and someone brought out a radio. The signal wasn't the best underground, but Tim managed to tune into a classic hits station on an 80s bender. By the time the pizza order was retrieved, John realized they basically had a party going-- or the closest he'd ever get to a party anyway.

An arm wrestling tournament started. Bane was barred without anyone having to say anything, including him, but the guys made a point of pressing Bruce to referee. He agreed, but soon enough doubled as a trainer, telling them how to improve their grip and technique.

Freeze was in a favorable enough mood to leave some dry ice in a few buckets to quickly chill the beer. He then excused himself so he didn't have to participate in any frivolity-- until two of the goons started to argue about how to make fog with dry ice. Freeze scowled, because it was simple enough even for these fools. After everyone found themselves calf-deep in a rolling mist from a metal tub backed by a fan, Freeze was swept up in demonstrating more simple science, like creating frozen bubbles. 

Harley was a free enough spirit to dance to the radio by herself, fog swirling around her legs. As the beer bottles emptied, though, a few of the guys joined her enthusiastically (and platonically, since they preferred solid bones).

John watched, clapping along to the music. Harley stopped mid-spin and crooked a finger at him. "All that energy and you don't wanna dance, puddin'?"

Well, sure, John felt the pull as much as anyone, and it looked easy, especially if you were tipsy enough, but... Maybe he needed to drink more. "I'm okay," he said awkwardly.

Suddenly Bruce was at his side, arms crossed with a disappointed look, which was undercut by the obvious flush of his cheeks. "I didn't take you for a wall flower."

The arm wrestling had been abandoned, and now a bunch of men cheered Bane on as he smashed the largest of the frozen bubbles on his head. A few others used the bubbles to start a bowling game with empty beer bottles. Freeze may have had a few beers himself, because now he was explaining how to make minor explosions with dry ice fragments.

Bruce dropped his cross look and tugged on John's arm. "Come on!"

"I don't know how," John protested even as he let himself be led into the fog. He didn't know how to do a lot of things, he'd realized on the outside. He pushed through it okay, but even he had his anxious moments.

Bruce snorted. "You don't need to know. You just move around to the beat, look stupid, and have fun."

That was exactly the thing. Who wanted to look stupid? "Harley looks cool."

"Then she's not having fun." Bruce held both of John's hands. "Just follow me."

They started off simple enough, just stepping side to side with the beat, Bruce throwing out encouraging remarks. Then Bruce lifted his arm so John could do a spin, and somehow after that all bets were off. They were moving hips and arms, whipping up the fog around their legs. Bruce knew all the songs and (badly) sang the lyrics, but John was able to catch onto the choruses to join in. It was the most fun he had ever had without someone suffering severe contusions.

Suddenly Harley's fingers pressed to John's chest and she batted her eyelashes at him. "Hey, puddin'," she said, "we're low on the booze. You mind grabbin' more?"

"Oh, yeah, sure!" John said. He looked to Bruce. "I'll be back."

Bruce's adorable frown was directed at Harley. "Yeah, okay."

"Yer a peach," Harley said, tweaking John's nose. She turned to Bruce. "You can dance with me, rich boy."

John couldn't stop a sudden laugh when Bruce wrinkled his nose and said, "I'm okay."

Harley's scowl alternated from man to man, and John decided to go get that beer before she decided who she was more offended by. He'd already forgotten her little pinch of affection, thinking only how he wanted to get back and dance more with Bruce.

When John searched their food stores, he found there was only one case left. If this party was going to go on much longer, someone would need to run out for more. But then it had been a couple hours, and he had a feeling Bane or Harley would call for the end soon enough. He sighed and picked up the case.

"Okay," John yelled over the music. He set the beer down by the ice buckets. "Last call-- ahh!"

Bruce had literally swept him off his feet, lifting him under his knees and back. John grabbed Bruce's neck and laughed as they spun around a few times.

"You're back!" Bruce announced. His hat had disappeared in the last five minutes.

"Yeah-- hahaha!" John clung tighter when Bruce stumbled a bit. "Somebody's a liiiiittle drunk."

Bruce came to a stop and attempted to look serious. "Are you implying I can't hold my liquor?"

"No. I'm telling it."

"It is true!" Bane scoffed. "Wayne, it's like you never drink!"

Bruce shrugged, suddenly not caring to defend himself. The radio station suddenly transitioned to a ballad, and when Alphonso went to adjust the dial, Bruce stopped him. "Hey hey hey!" he scolded. "We're listening to that!"

John laughed as Alphonso sheepishly backed away from the radio with his hands raised. "Yeah, you heard the man!" he jeered as Bruce set him down. The Bruce started arranging them, holding John's right hand in his left and putting John's left hand on his own waist. "Uhhh, what's happening?"

"Slow dancing," Bruce said as he wrapped his right arm around John. "You just sway back and forth, nice and easy, like this."

They did just that, and somehow John felt more awkward then when they were flapping around to the fast songs. Probably because Bruce kept staring at him intently with that little smile.

"What's a guy like you planning on doing once this is over?" Bruce asked.

John blinked. Days ago, which now felt like years ago, he'd planned on sticking it out with Harley, after he won her heart of course. He glanced over at her now. She was standing on the edge of the fog with a beer, just glowering at them. Sheesh, she always complained about other people not seeing the funny side of things. Maybe she really was sore about losing that fight?

Raj sidled up to her and held out his hand. "May I?" he asked with a cocky grin.

"Knock it off or I'll rip it off," she growled.

Bruce noticed where John's attention was and swayed them around. "You're her right hand, hm?"

"I guess. I mean, I don't have any other marketable skills."

"What kind of a guy would I be if I couldn't get you a job at my company?"

John laughed. "As what?"

"Whatever you like."

Again, John thought about how this was supposed to be fake, except it wasn't. Sure, Bruce Wayne's boyfriend could easily get connected to a position he was absolutely unqualified for, but eventually Bruce would remember he'd never agreed to this to begin with. The song ended, but Bruce was still swaying.

"Time to take a seat, buddy," John said with another laugh, this one half-hearted. "We can talk about all that later."

They sat on the stairs in front of the capsule. Bruce immediately wrapped an arm around John's shoulders and started nuzzling his cheek.

The party was winding down. Someone had lowered the radio. Freeze finally vanished to check on Nora. Bane had fallen asleep on his weight bench. Tim, Dmitri, and Raj were sitting on the floor, watching the fog around them dissipate. Except, no, Tim was looking at Bruce and John, and he was sniffling.

"What's your damage?" Dmitri asked.

Tim burst into sobs. "I miss my girlfriend!"

Raj patted him on the back. "You can, you know, call her?"

"It's not the same!"

Bruce was oblivious as he fingered the buttons on John's vest. "I feel like I haven't relaxed like this in years," he murmured. His breath smelled like beer, but if they were going to start making out right in front of everyone, John was pretty sure he was going to let it happen.

Then Bruce looked at the ceiling on the far side of the station above the hacienda. "Do we know her?"

John followed his gaze and spotted a woman dressed in a tight black bodysuit watching them from rafters. Were those... little pointy ears on the headpiece? "Ooh, Harley! Cat Lady!"

Catwoman jumped down and used her whip to swing onto the old schedule board suspended in the middle of the room. When she dropped down to the floor, the tap of her boots seemed to dismiss the last of the fog. She was still looking at Bruce and John when Harley approached her from the side.

"Nice to see ya, beautiful," Harley greeted.

Catwoman glanced to her. "I got your message. Seemed as good a time as any to drop by." Her eyes shifted to Bane as he rolled off his bench and landed with a thud, then to the shattered bottles in puddles, then to the pizza boxes carefully balanced in what looked like an attempt to make a fort. "Looks like I missed some fun."

"We danced!" John chirped, slipping his arm around Bruce's back.

She nodded, a hint of confusion on her face. "Interesting to see the whole crowd," she said.

"Excuse me for not getting up," Bruce said, gesturing to his head. "Think I've overdone it in more ways than one. But it's nice to meet you."

Catwoman looked at Bruce oddly, like she was about to laugh. Then her brow creased. "Good to meet you," she said, too evenly.

Why was she staring like that? John got the feeling that she'd met Bruce before. Of course, that would make sense, for a prospective criminal mastermind to run across a professional thief. But then what stopped her from greeting him in a more familiar way?

Her gaze switched to John and her whole demeanor smoothed over. "I wasn't expecting the local billionaire."

Sure, that would explain it, but...

"Yeah, with Eddie gone, we definitely needed to boost our clout," Harley said.

"He'd definitely love the idea of being easily replaced," Catwoman replied a bit curtly.

Harley shrugged. "Didja bring yer orbital scanner thing or what?"

"Right here," Catwoman said, detaching a tool from her belt.

"Great. Ed and his peepers are in the box behind Chip and Dale over here."

Catwoman looked to Bruce. "You're a techy guy, right? Wanna give me a hand?"

"Sure!" Bruce said, standing up and immediately almost stumbling down the stairs, if not for John jumping up to grab him.

"Okay, I think it's bedtime, buddy," John giggled.

" _You're_ bedtime," Bruce retorted as he let John guide him to their house.

"Good night," Catwoman said.

John glanced over his shoulder and saw her still watching them as Harley opened up the capsule. The unknowns about her bugged him, all through drawing the curtains and even when he and Bruce stripped to their sleep clothes.

"She seemed nice," Bruce yawned as they settled in bed.

John pulled the blanket over them. "Cats are overrated," he declared.

"Oh?"

"Yes." John didn't have anything to back this up, and to be honest he'd hearted more internet cat videos than he could possibly count, but... still.

Bruce hummed as he slung an arm around John's waist. "What animals are underrated?"

"Oh, oh!" John reached over to the dresser and grabbed his phone. "I'll show you." He scrolled through his favorite videos for about a minute before selecting a clip and holding it up over their faces.

"Hyenas?" Bruce said as they watched two cubs tumble over each other, tugging at either side of a stringy hunk of meat.

"Yes!" John said, and as the animals started up their chattering laughter, so did he.

"Ah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playing it loose with the original plot things because there needs to be more time for nonsense.
> 
> One of the fast dancing songs was [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ilsv0C1-aBw). And the slow dance was [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ByIYof4mqo).
> 
>  **UPDATE (Oct 1):** OMG Batdoe over on tumblr drew [some wonderful fanart](https://batdoe.tumblr.com/post/178631627843/we-danced-john-chirped-slipping-his-arm-around) for this chapter! It makes me happy that someone would like this story so much they would use their time to draw a scene from it. :) Thank you!


	4. Night Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so some angst snuck in through the doggy door, but I wrapped it in fluff, so it's okay!

"Are you an angel?" Bruce murmured. Then he pressed a hand over his wincing eyes and added, "Because I think I've died."

John still considered it a lovely compliment as he nursed Bruce through his hangover.

It was far from the worst hangover in Old Five Points, judging from the scene beyond the hacienda curtains. An assortment of groaning men were sprawled around the station, over crates, on chairs, on the floor. Bane, of course, was unaffected despite drinking more than anyone else. He pounded on his tires like any other morning. No one dared ask him to stop the loud, reverberating thuds.

The noises were a little muted in the house. John sat at the end of the bed with his phone, evaluating hangover cures online. There were lots of interesting ones.

"There's buffalo milk. Know where we can wrangle a buffalo?"

Bruce laid on the mattress with a pillow over the top half of his face. "Don't think they're native to this state."

"Do you enjoy raw pickled herring?"

That one prompted a grimace and Bruce's hands pressing to his stomach. "Don't."

"We could bury you up to your neck in river sand."

With a poke of his finger, Bruce raised a corner of the pillow and gave John a look. "That one I don't get at all."

"I guess you can just stay hydrated and eat typical food," John sighed.

"That sounds better." The pillow fell back down.

Bruce wasn't in the mood to do much more than recover quietly, which was fine. It wasn't like John hadn't spent at least half a lifetime figuring out how to occupy himself. But when he reached for a book, Bruce suggested John read aloud to him.

John was in the middle of Dungeon Devices, which was pretty riveting (figuratively and literally), but Bruce said he'd rather listen to fewer descriptions of stress positions. John rummaged through his library and settled on The Odyssey, which he enjoyed, though the lofty language and length could make him sleepy. 

The same was true of Bruce; he was asleep before Athena visited Ithaca. 

And his phone vibrated to life. John blinked at it buzzing around on the bookshelf. Bruce dozed peacefully, and it seemed a shame to wake him...

"Uh, hello?" John answered quietly. "Bruce Wayne's phone."

A pause. Then a British accent. "To whom am I speaking?"

John planted his free hand on his hip. "To whom am _I_ speaking?"

Another pause. "Alfred Pennyworth. I am in Bruce Wayne's employ."

Oh, duh! Who else with that accent would call Bruce's phone? "Wow!" John exclaimed. He cringed at his volume and more quietly added, " _The_ Alfred!" He glanced at Bruce, who luckily hadn't stirred.

He couldn't help his enthusiasm. People were so obsessed with Bruce Wayne-- which, ha, of course, John was the _most_ obsessed-- but no one else seemed to find much interest in the man behind the man. Why not? He appeared in so many of the tabloid photos, so clearly integrated into Bruce's life. He must know about Bruce's darker side, which made Alfred supremely interesting by association.

"Ah, yes," Alfred replied warily, "I suppose I would be 'the,' being the only one in Bruce's orbit. Could you put him on the line?"

"Uh, well..." John looked over at Bruce, still resting peacefully like an angel himself. A shirtless, scarred angel with a sixpack. "He's asleep. We had quite the party last night!"

"Party, yes," Alfred said. Why did he sound so cautious? "I heard a bit about it from an associate of his, who recommended I check in."

Associate? The Cat Lady? Hm, maybe John had the right inkling about her after all. Plus now the context was catching up with his eagerness. If it was the Cat Lady, did Alfred know about Bruce joining up with the Pact before or after talking with her? But maybe Bruce should be the one asking. "He could call you back," John suggested. "Oh, except, do you know his passcode? He, uh, forgot it."

"Forgot...?" Alfred practically sputtered. "I... I find that highly unlikely."

John bristled. "Well, that's the situation, Jeeves."

A light scoff. "Excuse me, whoever you are--"

"You are not excused!" John retorted. "I am not a liar!"

"I... I didn't mean to imply--"

"You implied all the same," John said snippily. "And Bruce is napping! So you know what? We'll talk to you when we're good and ready!" With that, he very firmly pressed the "End Call" icon, wishing he was using a landline so he could slam a receiver instead.

And then he realized that he'd banished the phone back into locked mode. Alfred would have to be the one to call back.

Which was fine. John was not eager to experience such rudeness again so soon.

* * *

The phone didn't ring again after Bruce woke up, and when they went for lunch and to coach the miserable goons through fight training, they left the phone behind like always. John didn't tell Bruce about the call. He seemed to be feeling better, and John didn't want him to feel down again because of the missed opportunity to get in his phone. Or because John actually made a mistake not waking him up. Or because John yelled at Alfred when it was maybe possible he didn't need to.

It wasn't _lying_ ; it was just delaying.

John reminded himself of this to stave off the creeping guilt that tried to distract him from palling around with Bruce and the other guys in the meeting square. Alphonso was standing, presenting a copy of Gotham Weekly he'd grabbed at the news stand while picking up hangover coffees. The front page story was "DRIFT A-WAYNE" over a blurry photo of a boat on the ocean.

"This is some high quality journalism!" Alphonso said. He cleared his throat and read. "Looks like billionaire bachelor Bruce Wayne has gotten tired of dull office life yet again. Insiders at Wayne Enterprises report that the _supposed_ CEO has taken another sudden leave of absence, the reason for which is unknown."

"What could it be?" Tim asked, wide-eyed, acting like he couldn't see Bruce sitting in a folding chair across from him.

Raj had been reading over Alphonso's shoulder, and he pulled the magazine away. "But!" he read, raising his finger. "There have been reported sightings of _Brucie_ off the coast of Miami, on the mega-yacht of actress-slash-singer Vienna Lustre. An eagle-eyed vacationing reader grabbed this pic."

Another man peeked at the cover, partially obscured by Raj's hand. "Is that the pic?"

Raj held it up for everyone to see. "They appeared to have zoomed in on... the back of generic white dude number seventy-nine. Definitely checks out."

John snorted and folded his arms. "Any idiot can see that Bruce's shoulders are more toned than that blob's."

Raj rolled his eyes. Alphonso took the tabloid back. "Lustre's yacht parties are known to last for days, as celebrities of all stripes hobnob up on deck and rub more than shoulders down below."

"How exactly do you hobnob?" John asked curiously as Bruce sipped from a bottle of water.

"Wait," Raj sputtered, struggling not to laugh, "so you're saying Bruce hasn't shown you to hob a nob yet?"

Bruce almost spat as the others busted up laughing.

John frowned. "I don't get it." He looked at Bruce, who'd swallowed his water and covered his face.

"Look who's suddenly Mr. Bashful!" exclaimed Tim.

"Hey, Bert and Ernie!" Harley called from on-high. She gestured for Bruce and John to come up to her office.

When they entered a few minutes later, she was sitting on her desk with her hands braced on the edge. She pursed her lips to one side, looking very much annoyed to see them even though she'd summoned them. 

"Uh..." Bruce tapped his hands on his thighs. "You called?"

She sighed and pulled a laptop from where it rested on the desk behind her. It was red and covered in stickers, and John had seen it before. "I'm done tryin' to google my way outta this. Let's see if we can jog more of yer expertise, Mr. Tech Mogul." She handed it over to Bruce.

John wrinkled his nose. "That's Riddler's. Probably still covered in his... smugness."

When Bruce lifted the lid, they were greeted with a green, mocking display of a floating head on a background of scrolling characters. "Encrypted," he said.

Harley nodded. "There's crucial info on that thing that Riddler didn't deign to tell anyone."

Bruce gave her a look. "Imagine being part of a group and having limited information."

"Yeah, yeah, smart aleck. Can you do somethin'?"

"We'll see." He sat on a trunk near the windows with the computer on his thighs.

John watched the intent expression on Bruce's face-- the stern line of his mouth, the concentration in his eyes-- until he realized Harley was watching him. He smiled. "Hiya."

She smiled back and hopped off her desk to stand in front of him. "You two still gettin' along real well?" she asked quietly, gesturing to Bruce with a jerk of her head.

Looked like her mood had improved. "Absolutely!" John said, matching her low volume.

"That's good." She turned a little to bump their shoulders. "Odd couples are such a treat to see."

"Odd couples?"

"Well, usually guys like him aren't even friends with people like you. Makes ya wonder if this would still work under dif'rent circumstances."

"We're not under different circumstances," Bruce spoke up. He'd taken his attention from the screen to fix Harley in a stern stare.

"And good thing, too!" Harley said, unperturbed. "You make a cute pair."

Bruce closed the laptop. "Look, you're going to need a real expert for this, unless there's a decryption key Riddler kept around for emergencies."

Harley tapped her chin. "Hm, he might've... Okay, how about you two go check out his hideout in East End? It'll be more useful than makin' goo-goo eyes."

Normally John would be excited about a road trip, but at the moment he mostly felt the appeal of fresh air.

* * *

When John parked outside the water tower, Bruce suggested they take a walk around the walled perimeter to check if anyone would see them. The area was quiet. At first all they came across was a security camera at a nearby store, which Bruce stealthily disabled. Then around the corner, a squad car was parked at a fire hydrant. 

"Act casual," Bruce murmured, sticking his hands in his pockets as he scanned the area.

"Uh, okay," John said, lacing his fingers behind his head and rocking back and forth on his feet, whistling.

"Not suspiciously casual," Bruce chuckled. He put his arm around John's shoulders, prompting him to lower his arms, and guided him back around the corner. "We're just out for an evening stroll."

"In the city's most charming desolate neighborhood. Gotcha."

They stopped back at their own car, having seen not another soul. "Officer must be patrolling elsewhere," Bruce surmised.

John broke away from him excitedly and retrieved a crowbar from the back of the car. "Alright then. I brought my key!"

There was a loose-looking sheet of aluminum on the perimeter wall, and John drew back his arm to knock it free. Bruce's hand caught his wrist.

"Uh, I think prying might be a better method."

John was disappointed at the lost opportunity to smash something, but then Bruce's front was pressed against his back, and Bruce's arms slid along his to show him how to slot the crooked tip of the bar under the metal sheet. They bent it back together, far enough that they could slip in.

It was entirely unnecessary and entirely exciting. Unfortunately, after they climbed the stairs to the top of the tower, they found the hatch unlocked, so Bruce didn't have an excuse for another demonstration. Riddler probably did it on purpose, through the bitterness of his spirit. John added this to his evidence that ghosts were definitely real.

They climbed down into the tank, to a long platform partway down the wall that had a bed and food, among other things. At the end of the platform, stairs led to the level below, which had a murderbox in the center, surrounded by Riddler's workspace, a giant wingback chair, a bunch of safes, a block of TV screens, and-- most interesting to John-- a chalk outline of a body capped with a spatter of blood.

John folded his arms. "Aw, seems like we missed something exciting." He looked over at Bruce, who stared at the outline strangely. "Or maybe a tracing is captivating by itself?"

Bruce came back to himself with a start and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, I just... I feel like I've been here before."

"I did tell you Riddler had a place out here. Maybe you found it and came to enact revenge!"

"Maybe..."

Another idea sparked. "Maybe," John said hesitantly, "you followed him to that boat and killed him?"

Bruce frowned. "Let's not go that far." He chewed his lip. "I hope my butler does know where I am. If he calls the police while I'm MIA after Riddler's murder..."

John rubbed the back of his head nervously. "I have a feeling he has some idea."

"It seems likely." Bruce's attention moved to the murderbox, and he looked from the tube to a dolly nearby. "Also seems like this tube is standing on something. Let's take a look."

After they moved the box off the square platform beneath it, they got more than a look. The platform descended so it was a square flush with the floor, and then, of course, Riddler's annoying face and voice showed up on the screens. Two coils sparking with electricity ascended from below on either side of the square, which sprouted a red button. TV Riddler started reciting some metaphor about the drudgery of life, which he obviously thought of because his life had been nothing but dull toil on insufferable riddles.

It took some time, but luckily Bruce paid enough attention to solve the puzzle, using a pair of shoes and a couple of pressure pads. The coils retreated back into the floor, and from under the recessed platform came a brief, loud whirring noise.

"Sounds like an elevator," Bruce said. He gestured for John to stand with him by the activation button. "Going down?"

John stepped on the button and they did indeed start going down. He watched the metallic mesh slowly rise around them and giggled. "And this a metaphor for how deep Riddler's soul was!" he said, clasping his hands to his heart. "How far down he had to store his secrets!"

"I guess everyone feels that way, though," Bruce said. John was going to point out that Bruce didn't even know his own secrets, when the other man suddenly changed the subject. "What is your deal with Harley?"

John lowered his hands. "My deal with her?"

"That was a crappy thing she said in her office. You know that, right?"

"Well, I mean..." John looked at the floor and shrugged. "True things aren't always the nicest to hear."

"Maybe if I hadn't met you back in Arkham, it would've been harder for me to get to know you," Bruce said, his voice the tensest John had heard it in the past few days. "But I'm here now, and saying passive aggressive bullshit to dismiss what's between us is incredibly rude, to say the least. I thought you hated rudeness?"

"She was just being honest."

"She was trying to make you feel bad. She always--"

John looked up with a glare. "Harley is the reason I'm here at all," he said tersely. "She met me in Arkham, too, and she's known me for longer, and she helped me out of a dark place."

For long moments there was only the hum of the elevator.

"I'm sorry to hear about that," Bruce said finally, nervously.

John couldn't get his shoulders to untense. "I didn't want you to hear about it. I want you to hear the good things. I want us to have fun."

"Of course," Bruce protested, "but I'd listen, if you--"

"I don't," John snapped.

A large computer station came into view, with one screen the length of John's outstretched arms and a few smaller ones gathered around it. The console below the main screen had a keyboard, various ports, and other hardware. A metal chair had been left in front of the whole setup. As the elevator stopped, John walked over with crossed arms.

"So how do you get this thing on?" he said, kicking at the wires on the floor.

After an almost imperceptible sigh, Bruce came and sat in the chair. "Looks like it's this." He depressed a large round button to the right of the keyboard, and the screen flickered to life. Unfortunately, the display was basically the same as the laptop's.

"Maybe a password?" Bruce asked, looking down at the keyboard. "Like 'riddles'?"

The earlier tension did not make Bruce's awful guess more endearing or make John feel particularly helpful. He huffed and let his eyes wander around the space. He noticed a USB drive sitting on a filing cabinet to the left. "Maybe he stored his passwords on this." John picked it up and flung it over his shoulder at Bruce.

There was no clatter, and John glanced behind him to find that Bruce had caught the drive, naturally. He also caught Bruce's sad puppy expression and quickly turned away, definitely not thinking about how cute it was.

"He would do that," John went on. "Store passwords you need a computer to read except you can't get into the computer. Idiot."

Bruce made a contemplative noise. "Actually, this might be just what we need."

John turned around with a raised eyebrow. Bruce plugged it into one of the tiny rectangular ports and the computer reacted.

"Decrypter detected. Accessing SANCTUS Project Lotus files." A new window popped up, saying much the same thing, alongside a little lotus symbol.

"He just left the decrypter out?" John snorted.

"At the bottom of a shaft only accessible by---"

The computer interrupted. "Retinal scan required."

Bruce frowned. "Guess we need those goggles from Cat--"

"Retinal scan time out." The whole screen began to glitch and flash red. "Hephaestus protocol enacted."

"Dammit!" Bruce cried as the console began to flash and spark.

John flailed for a moment before yanking the USB stick out of its port, just before there was a brief fiery flash and the entire system went dark.

He looked down at the stick in his hand, shaking his head. "Unbelievable," he muttered.

"Seriously. Why give so short a time for the scan?" Bruce wondered.

"Not that! Hephaestus! Riddler could only wish he was as cool as Hephaestus." John smirked and turned to Bruce. "Though maybe he was thinking about the ugliness part."

Bruce sighed. "Well, at least you got decrypter out in time. Theoretically we can use it to access the laptop, though I assume we still need those goggles."

"Alrighty!" John chirped, putting the drive in his pocket. "Then we bring this to Harley, and Catsy brings the goggles, and Harley is happy as a leather-clad clam!"

* * *

When they were back on the street, standing by the car, Bruce bumped his elbow onto John's arm. "What time is it?"

John checked his phone. "About eleven. I'll let Harley know we're on our way back."

"You could." Bruce brushed a hand through John's hair. "Or we could hit a reset button on tonight."

"Reset button?"

"I liked the idea of being out of the station, just the two of us. I didn't mean to... sour it. So let's do something else. A little adventure."

"Maybe." John tried to be coy, but a smile bled through. "What kind of adventure?"

"A surprise."

"For me?" No one had ever come up with a surprise for him before. (The kind of surprises Arkham patients cooked up... did not count.) 

"Of course you. Just tell Harley we didn't die and we'll be back later."

John texted just that. He was too preoccupied with possibilities for the surprise to rephrase.

"And let me borrow that because I need a map," Bruce said, plucking the phone away. 

First they walked to a convenience store, which Bruce said was absolutely not the surprise. He bought a package of bacon, and John wasn't sure what to derive from that. Then it was back to the car, and Bruce directed John to drive to a better kept area of Gotham, close to Robinson Park.

"Let's park at a distance," Bruce mumbled. He pointed at a side street. "Right over here is good."

From there, they walked three long tree-covered blocks, past neat and clean row houses. At the fourth block, a high concrete wall stretched from the corner in either direction. Bruce kept going straight. Right before the next corner, the wall was interrupted by a tall wooden door, a back entrance to... whatever this was.

John watched Bruce examine the overhead power lines and follow the wires that went over the wall. Then he nodded to himself and stepped forward, rubbing his hands together.

"Wait here," Bruce said, and with an amazing leap, he grabbed onto the top of the wall and hoisted himself over.

"Sheesh," John snickered. "Seriously, what were you up to before you joined us?"

There was no response but a series of quiet, indecipherable noises. After a couple minutes, the door rattled and opened inward, revealing Bruce. He bowed and gestured widely with his arm for John to enter.

"Would you believe," he said, "the electrical system in this place is neatly labeled, so you can just switch off the security cameras?"

John strolled inside, shooting Bruce a proud look. "And what is 'this place?'" he asked, looking around. They were in a small area blocked in by wooden fencing, apparently meant to house the electrical box (now with a picked padlock). The fence had another door with a simple latch.

"I guess you'll see," Bruce said, lifting the latch.

They walked further in along a concrete path bordered by hedges and tall lamps. It didn't take long for John to notice the high wrought iron fences ahead. "Is this...?"

"You've never been to the zoo, right?"

"No..."

The hedges ended at a crossing, and Bruce led the way down a path on their left. The signpost indicated they were headed for the "African Plains." John would have liked to see the animals in every habitat they passed, but evidently none of them were nocturnal. He wondered where they were headed.

Eventually Bruce stopped at a large enclosure, lit fairly well by two nearby path lamps. The ground inside was mostly browned grass, with some large rock slabs and a couple of trees with wide-reaching, spindly branches. Some logs had been lashed together to make climbable platforms. A fake cave with a dark, rounded mouth had been built at the back.

Bruce pulled the package of bacon out of his jacket and opened it. He reached between the bars, dangling a strip and whistling lowly. For a moment, nothing happened, but then four points of light appeared in the blackness of the cave.

John gasped as two large spotted hyenas slinked out, eyeing the slip of meat curiously. Bruce tossed the bacon over, and it landed about halfway between them and the animals. The hyenas crept over, snuffling; the one on the left suddenly snapped the bacon up. The one on the right jerked back, hackles raised in offense. John laughed, and they both looked at him.

Bruce offered John the package, and John stripped out two more slices. He held them out and the hyenas came closer to the bars. John dropped the bacon right at the edge, and they lapped it right from the dirt. Then he reached in to smooth the fur on their heads.

"John!" Bruce exclaimed.

But the hyenas just sat happily, tails wagging as John pet them. "Such good girls!" John cooed. They chittered in response. "Do they have names?"

"Uh." Bruce shook off his surprise and peered at the darkened sign to his left. "Bahati is the one with the darker spots. The other is Lulu."

Lulu had fluffier scruff on her neck, and her tongue lolled when John scratched her there. Bahati made an annoyed growl in her throat.

"Maybe you should be a zookeeper," Bruce said. He edged his hand past the bars to give Bahati more attention, but she snapped at his fingers.

John chortled when Bruce lurched back. "Not you, though!" He worked his fingers under Bahati's chin and she settled down.

As Bruce grumbled to himself, John got more bacon to drop into the hyenas' waiting mouths. They practically swallowed it whole. He went to peel off more, and they eagerly stuck their snouts out of the cage, straining against the bars.

The flashes in his mind froze his limbs. Bars on the windows. Bars between the wings. You can see, but you can't go.

The hyenas whined, and John shook himself and fed them more. "Can't we let them out?" he asked quietly.

Bruce went still in his peripheral. A long silence passed before he finally responded. "There's nowhere for them to go. They'd be tracked down and brought back. They could get hurt or--"

"It's for their own good. Right."

Bruce fell quiet.

John ruffled Bahati's and Lulu's scruffs, and they pushed their heads against his palms before he stepped away from the cage. He split the remaining bacon into two shares and tossed them in. The hyenas dove into their treats. "Good night," he said softly, before turning away and heading back up the path.

Neither Bruce nor John said anything as they made their way back, turning the power to the security system back on and relocking the electrical box before leaving.

Back on the street, Bruce took his hand. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't..."

John shrugged. "It's fine," he said halfheartedly.

He could almost hear Bruce's brain working, trying to figure out something to do or say that could fix this, but nothing came. That was okay. It was still better than what Harley would've said, that they were just a couple of mongrels, that John should just get over it. _The world's fulla sob stories and there ain't no reason to drown in 'em._

He counted the cracks in the sidewalk as they walked over them, until he remembered they were headed back to the car, back to the station. Old Five Points, itself enclosed and under watch.

It took Bruce another step, the tug on his hand, to realize John had stopped. He looked back questioningly.

"Let's go somewhere else," John said.

"Where do you want to go?"

John rubbed at his forehead. "Anywhere."

Bruce stepped closer and held him by the shoulders. "You look tired."

John dragged his hand down his cheek and looked up at Bruce's face. Heh, he looked so guilty. He'd tried to do good for John twice tonight, and twice things went askew. Kind of funny.

"There are beds other places, right?" John asked. He was supposed to be free now, and maybe the station seemed fine before, but... not tonight.

"Yeah," Bruce said. "We'll get some other place."

With some online searches and a phone call, Bruce found a small walkup hotel that could take them despite the late hour. Their room was on the second floor. It was tiny as advertised, but it was clean enough to kick off their shoes. The glow of the streetlights bled through the thin curtains so they didn't even need to turn on the light.

John sat on the side of the bed while Bruce used the bathroom. When Bruce came back out, John said, "A cage doesn't have to be that bad. Sometimes I actually want to go back."

Bruce didn't need to ask what he meant. "I'm glad you're out," he said, sitting next to John.

"So am I, but I still..." Suddenly John couldn't stop giggling. "It's so stupid. The whole time I was there, I wanted out."

"It's not stupid," Bruce said. John could only shake his head and laugh, and then Bruce gathered him to his chest so they could lay on the bed. He rubbed John's back and murmured lovely things to him. John's ear pressed against Bruce's shirt, and he listened to the steady heartbeat under the rumbling words.

* * *

When John woke up, the glow of the curtains had dimmed to a pale light. It was barely dawn. They were going to have to get back soon.

They'd fallen asleep on top of the covers, which was probably for the best given the news reports John had seen about the sheets at even classy hotels. In the night, Bruce had turned onto his back, but his arm was still wrapped around John's shoulders. John had stayed pressed to his side, and one of his hands was entwined with Bruce's on Bruce's stomach.

John carefully pushed himself partway up so he could look at Bruce without waking him. He'd done this a lot already, but something felt different. He studied Bruce's strong features before realizing that the difference was in himself, in his chest, swelling and awed, and less scared than he should be.

This was going to end eventually, one way or another. How it would end was the big question. It wasn't going to end with John coming clean about Harley's lie. He was too selfish for that. As much as Bruce had given him, John still wanted to keep taking, as much as Bruce was willing.

He shifted onto Bruce's lap and leaned over him, pressing his hands into the pillow on either side of the other man's head. Bruce opened his eyes blearily, but his gaze quickly cleared.

"Hi," John said.

"Hi," Bruce echoed.

"You're very pretty," John said, because he still couldn't believe it.

Bruce placed his hands on John's thighs. "You're very handsome."

Reflexively, John wanted to protest, but Bruce had said it so honestly. He felt that surge of greed again, and he leaned down to kiss him. Bruce kissed back, and his grip on John's legs tightened.

With his limited experience, John wasn't sure how to engage with a practiced playboy, but he knew he was absolutely ready and _he needed._ He needed heated breath and rocking hips and firm hands. When Bruce rolled John under him, John found himself pleading without knowing what he was asking for.

But Bruce's mouth and hands made their way downward and, boy howdy, did he figure out something.

* * *

On the way back into Old Five Points, Bruce and John came across a few of Bane's men, who griped about how one of the armored cars wouldn't start. It was stored nearby, and Bruce told the guys to wait and he'd go take a look with them.

John grinned when he realized Bruce just wanted to walk him to the station doors, like a perfect gentleman. Bruce returned the smile when he leaned down for a parting kiss. John delayed him for a few more, and Bruce vaguely protested that he'd be back before long. John finally let him go and waved until he turned the corner.

As John strolled into the station, he felt light and giddy, and he started twirling like a ballet dancer. He spun over to Harley, Bane, and Freeze, who stood around a large crate littered with the night's beer bottles. Harley quickly snatched up a full one before John fell back onto the empties, scattering them.

"Good morning!" he greeted over the sound of shattering glass. The three others looked down at him, Harley with utter confusion, Bane with his lightest scowl, and Freeze with his usual nonexpression.

Harley looked from John, back to his house, and back to John again. "You never..."

"You didn't need us, right?" John asked as he folded his hands over his stomach and kicked his legs.

Harley's narrowed eyes scanned him. "Yer hair's a mess."

John grinned. "It is."

She was bothered again, for whatever reason. "Didja finish the job?"

A laugh burst out of him and he covered his mouth in a belated attempt to stifle it. "Oh, I think so!"

"John," she snapped, "the focus is still on settin' up the heist, not on lettin' Moneybags take his liberties." She took a deep swig of beer.

"Is it 'taking' if it's reciprocal?" John asked inquisitively.

Harley sputtered, half turning away.

"I would much prefer that we return to the previous subject," said Freeze.

Harley wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Oh, a true partnership, how sweet."

"I'm still going with the flow," John said, feeling quite liquidy. "Do you think I'm doing something wrong?" He couldn't imagine what at this point. He'd been anxious at first, but quickly figured out how to pull all kinds of wonderful noises from Bruce.

Harley huffed. "Against all odds, no."

Usually her inexplicable disapproval bothered him, but now the bother just seemed to wash away. The glow of Bruce's attention felt like it would never fade, the feel of his hands, of his mouth... John couldn't stop giggling.

"What did you find at the water tower?" Freeze said with a desperate edge.

"Hmm? Oh, this decryption thingamajig." John fished the USB drive out of his pants pocket. Harley snatched it away and he smiled at her. "Are you happy? I'm happy. I hope you're all happy." He grinned at Bane and Freeze.

"I'm ecstatic," Harley groused.

"It is good for a man to relieve tension," Bane said.

"That's yer takeaway?"

"Other than it also greatly strengthens the bond between two lovers, yes."

Harley fixed her ever-darkening gaze on him. "Ya know what? I'm takin' this"-- she lifted the drive-- "and this"-- she lifted the beer-- "upstairs. Because I'm the only one with the right priorities around here!"

John's eyes followed her as she stalked off, up the stairs and into her office. Then he turned his gaze to the ceiling, his smile slowly fading into a contemplative frown.

Freeze let out a light snort in what he thought was agreement. "She behaves as if she could do this alone, but that is false."

John wasn't even listening. He bopped his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Oh, _hobnob!_ Ah hahahahaha!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started with a T rating, so I decided to keep it that way.


	5. Day Trips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I previously edited Chapter 3 with this link, but [this fanart](https://batdoe.tumblr.com/post/178631627843) by batdoe still puts a dopey grin on my face, so I'm linking it again.
> 
> This chapter took longer than expected because 1) Bruce and John decided to take a little adventure and 2) another part got too dark and I needed to pull it back. However, I've still gone ahead and added a warning for a mention of suicide.

After the truck repair was handled, Bane directed his men to follow him deep into the service tunnels, to an area set up for target practice. Bruce and John were welcome to come along, but Bruce got an odd blank look on his face when Tim offered him a rifle. John ignored his own interest and suggested he and Bruce stay behind to prepare the C-4.

With Bane and the men gone, Harley still holed up in her office, and Freeze off in his lab, Bruce and John had the bulk of the station to themselves. John moved two folding chairs to the center platform. Bruce carried over a large plastic case and a tool box and set them between the chairs. He opened the case, revealing white bricks of C-4. John pushed over a wooden crate, removed the lid, and overturned it before sitting down.

Bruce watched mannequin heads roll around their feet. "Explain?"

"Harley says there's no reason not to add a little artsiness to your work," John said. He caught one of the heads under his foot while reaching for a C-4 brick. "Can you get me a knife?"

"What is this art saying?" Bruce said as he opened the tool box.

"Hmm..." John took the pocketknife he was offered and cut off a third of the brick, then picked up the hollow head and considered it thoughtfully. "Alas, poor Yorick..." He stuffed the white clay down the neck. "I blew his mind!" John chortled.

"It does have a certain _je ne sais quoi_."

John set the head down and reached for another. "Plus we'll make them up all pretty, each with a signature clown style! Thematic." He stuffed in another hunk of C-4. "Like Batman and his gadgets."

"A brand makes you memorable," Bruce mused.

"Exactly!" John clutched the half-finished bomb to his chest and chuckled lowly. "Of course, the explosion is memorable in itself. Wanna see?"

Bruce glanced around the station. "I don't think--"

"Not here!" John rolled his eyes. "Let's finish these up and I'll show you."

* * *

With a bag slung over his shoulder, John led Bruce into the service tunnels, lit by old, caged yellow bulbs overhead. At first they walked the same path that led to the makeshift gun range, but at a key branch John diverted to the right. After a fair distance, they came to what used to be a dead end, but part of the wall had crumbled away and a low, short passage had been dug through hardened dirt.

"There used to be squatters here before we kicked them out," John said as they hunched over and made their way through.

"They made this?" Bruce asked

Through another broken wall, they came out into a round concrete tunnel. The ceiling was high enough that they could both comfortably stand on a low, narrow rise that stretched along the walls in either direction. Below them, what could barely qualify as a stream trickled off to the left. 

Bruce wrinkled his nose at the faint but unpleasant odor. "Tell me this isn't a sewer."

"It used to be, until a cave-in ages ago forced the city to upgrade and reroute most of the lines. That's why it doesn't _totally_ reek." John pointed to the right. "Down there a-ways, you'll see the rubble."

"So we're going the other way?"

"You got it!" John started along and said over his shoulder, "But yeah, either the homeless or the Croc dug through the wall."

"Excuse me?" Bruce said as he followed. "The Croc?"

"Yeah, the crocodile man who lives under the city."

"John, that has 'urban legend' written all over it."

"Batman was an urban legend for like his whole first year."

"And how long have there been stories of the Croc?"

"Not sure, but one of the squatters told me-- well, threatened me. We wouldn't let them back in, and the leader said..." John walked backwards, shaking his finger in Bruce's face. In a scratchier voice, he hissed, "You're only tough enough for Killer Croc to use your ligaments for floss!"

"Yikes."

"Yeah." John turned back around. "But not a lot of people imply I'm tough, so I was kinda flattered?"

"But-- since this is the first I've heard of it-- I'm gonna guess the Croc never showed up."

"True, but you never know..."

They came to a drop off, where the stream emptied into a large round chamber. The surface of the pool was far below, about fifty feet. Three other tunnels also emptied there; the ones to the left and straight ahead had the same trickle, but the flow from the right was heavier.

Bruce looked over John's shoulder. "You're going to throw an explosive down there."

"We've done it already." John knelt and started unpacking his bag. "It doesn't hurt anything. As far as I know, heh."

He pulled out a mannequin head, a charge hooked up to a signal receiver, and a detonator. He pressed the charge into the C-4 inside the head, letting the receiver hang loose. He rummaged in the bag again and found a blue marker. Around the eyes, he drew triangles that pointed to and met at the nose, under which he scribbled a thick mustache. He added a goatee over the chin. It wouldn't be his loveliest send-off, but it would do for a demo.

John held the head in front of his own and growled to Bruce, "A true man conserves his rage so that his enemies will quake at its eruption!" He handed up the detonator and said in his own voice, "Hold that top button tight and do not let go."

Bruce did as he was told. "Don't let go?"

John flipped the mannequin head back over and turned on the receiver. "Yeah, Harley prefers dead man's switches."

Bruce's eyes darted from the red light on the receiver to the one on the detonator clutched in his fist. "John, you really need to give more of an explanation before you just... do things."

John shrugged and tossed the bomb over the edge of the tunnel. "This one's your standard kablooey." He braced his hands on the edge of the platform as he watched the head hit the water, and he felt Bruce lean over him to see, too. "Make a wish and let go!"

For a moment nothing happened, and John wondered what Bruce was wishing. Then came the soft _pok_ of the button's release.

For a split second, the water was white and foaming. With a thunderous sound, the explosion burst to the surface in a massive surge of water, not quite reaching the height of the tunnels, though John felt specks of water hitting his face.

He clapped happily as the pool began to settle. "The wonders of science!"

Bruce chuckled and ruffled John's hair. "What else could it do for us?"

John grinned up at him and held up a finger. "Now here is something special I've been cooking up!" He pulled out another set of supplies and started assembling again. His tongue poked out of his mouth as he molded a purple clay around the charge.

"Is that more C-4?" Bruce asked.

"That's been a little... finessed." John pushed the charge down the mannequin's neck and handed the head up with the marker. "If you please."

The marker rubbed and squeaked on the plastic, then Bruce passed the head back. He'd put a B on its right cheek, a J on its left, and drawn a heart around the nose.

John beamed at him and planted a kiss on the head's scalp. He gripped the detonator and activated the link to the charge, then threw the head over. He giggled as it plopped beneath the surface. Bruce leaned over again, and John lifted the switch.

"And here... we... go!"

There was that same moment of boiling white, and then with an incredible roar the water shot up the shaking walls, much faster than before. Bruce's shout was barely audible as he grabbed John around the waist and yanked him away. As the vertical flood passed, water sprayed into the tunnel, and they slipped and fell into a pile. For a moment John felt actual worry-- but the water burst was already descending and taking the runoff with it.

Laying on top of Bruce, his back to Bruce's chest, John laughed uncontrollably.

"Does that always happen?" came Bruce's dazed voice.

John managed to push himself onto his knees. "Holy moly!" he cackled. "This is my first time testing that variant!" He crawled back to the edge. The water below sloshed around, up and down the visibly cracked walls. "I guess no more underground tests."

Bruce sat up, blinking, his hat askew. "Um, yeah."

John's laughter faded. "You okay?" he asked, cocking his head.

The blank look on Bruce's face vanished, and he fixed his hat. "I just have the feeling I've seen C-4 in action before."

"Heh, I bet not like that!"

Bruce looked at John, then lifted his arms and watched his sleeves drip onto the concrete. A smile finally broke through. "Uh, no, I don't think like this," he said with a disbelieving laugh. "Jesus."

John grinned proudly.

"For the future, though, I think we should review safety measures." Bruce reached over and grabbed John's soaked bag, which clung to the edge of the platform.

"Oh, you party pooper," John said affectionately as they got to their feet.

"You can have plenty of fun without people getting hurt, including yourself."

"Yeah... but imagine the egg on my face! Hahaha!"

"Right now I'm imagining a shower. We have no idea what's in this water."

There was an old shower in the service tunnels that subway workers had used if they got too deep in the grit. The Pact had got it working again, but it was more convenient to take a thorough washcloth bath in the commuter bathrooms closer to Old Five Points.

"Alright," John said, "you go first, and I'll run and grab clothes and towels."

"Let's get everything together." Bruce put the bag over his shoulder and smirked. "Don't tell me all this adrenaline makes you want to shower alone?"

* * *

When Bruce and John stumbled out of the old employee locker room freshly dressed and bright-eyed, they ran into Bane and the goons returning from target practice.

Raj looked them up and down. "Oh, yeah, I can tell you guys have been up to very important work."

"We had to clean up after doing a security check in the old sewer," Bruce said with a light tone. He slung their towel over his shoulder.

John hung off Bruce's arm as they led the way back to the station. "Yeah, for all you know, we stopped an army of vicious rats," he said over his shoulder, with a hissing noise for effect.

"Or the Croc, I bet," Alphonso said, rolling his eyes.

Tim got shifty-eyed. "But you didn't, right? See the Croc?"

Bane, lumbering at the rear, snorted with disdain. "Focus less on fairy tales and more on your aim." He called up to John and Bruce. "Does Harley know that you left?"

"Why does it matter?" Bruce replied dismissively.

John frowned. He really would rather Bruce and Harley got along. "We did all the prep for more explosives," he replied to Bane. "We're good."

"It is best for her to know your whereabouts," Bane said, "in case something comes up. Emergencies, sudden maneuvers, other such things."

"Hm, I guess..."

"You should definitely tell her to what secluded location you're going, who you're going with, how much time you're spending with him... You know, basics."

John's attention was drawn away from Bane's weird specificities because they'd arrived back at the station. Not only had Freeze emerged from his igloo, but Catwoman was with him. They stood by the crate Bruce and John had filled back up with prepped mannequin heads.

"There you are!" Freeze exclaimed. "I am not here to act as a receptionist."

"It's not that hard," John retorted. "Just tell Harley the Cat Lady is here."

Catwoman, holding a metal briefcase, was pretending not to stare at Bruce through her red goggles.

Behind his red goggles, Freeze glanced away sheepishly. "I did. She was... responsive, but not helpful."

John twisted his hand in the air. "Meaning?"

"She came out long enough to throw a mannequin at us," Catwoman answered. "Ended up over there." She gestured with a claw.

John went over and found the mannequin laying on the tracks by the office stairs. One of its arms had popped off. It was the same mannequin Harley let John use when fixing up clothes from the thrift store. It still wore a vest; John had forgotten about it when Bruce showed up.

As John returned to the group, Bane asked, "Has she been drinking this whole time?"

"I am not inclined to ask," Freeze replied.

"Very unprofessional," Bane said, shaking his head. He looked to Catwoman. "My apologies, feline friend. I do not want this to reflect on our organization."

She touched her chest as if charmed. "Oh, don't you worry. Should I show this to someone else?"

"Harley has likely stowed the necessary hardware somewhere," Freeze said.

"So I should come back?"

"Someone could try talking to her first," Raj suggested.

Several pairs of eyes landed on John.

"Oh, uh..." John shrugged. "Sure, I can do that."

"I'll come with you," Bruce said.

"Uh, no," John tittered. He patted Bruce's shoulder. "Harley doesn't like a crowd for chat time."

Bruce hesitated, but nodded. "Alright. I'll be here for backup."

John waved him off before heading for the stairs. "It's just Harley."

* * *

The office was seemingly unoccupied. John stepped in and looked around. "Anybody home?"

The desk jolted, and Harley's voice erupted in a curse. Her hand popped up to lay flat against the desktop as she pulled herself up. The diamond around her right eye was smudged, and she rubbed her head with a sour expression.

"Yeah, yeah, what is it?" she grumbled.

John closed the door. "Cat Lady is waiting."

She glared at him. With a slight slur, she said, "I'll talk ta her when I'm good and ready."

And more sober, John guessed. "Okay, but it's just, you know, all us guys are wondering when--"

"'All us guys...' Pah! Just two of you guys..." Now on her feet, Harley leaned forward on the desk with both hands. "Isn't that right?"

John cocked his head. "No, everybody is pretty antsy to keep the ball rolling."

She exhaled through her nose, then said, "Selina takes her time, and you take your time, so I'll take mine." Before he could ask what she meant, she waved her hand at the laptop on the end of the desk. The USB stick sat on top of it. "Her equipment better work. This decrypter ain't any good on its own."

John froze. In his morning euphoria, he'd forgotten to warn her. "Uh, you tried it? It didn't mention Hephaestus, did it?"

"Hephwhaddy?" She shook her head. "It asked fer an eye scan, and I just ripped the thing out. So frustratin'."

"Yeah!" John exclaimed. "No need to bother without the goggles!"

She flopped back into the wing-backed desk chair. "And you got no need to bother me. So go hang out with yer 'boyfriend.'" She crooked her fingers into air quotes.

"He's not my 'boyfriend,'" John said, mimicking her motions. "He's my boyfriend." He slashed his hand through the air as if to underline.

Harley rolled her eyes. "We'll see what happens when the rest of his circuits start firin'."

He folded his arms. "I'll worry about that."

"Nah, you'll just push it outta your noggin. But what more should I expect?"

John hadn't liked to hear it, but Bruce had been right about her trying to make him feel bad. "Maybe you should push into _your_ noggin," he said snippily, "that I like being around him 'cause he's _nice_ to me."

She raised her eyebrows at his tone, but she didn't look mad like he expected. "Nice," she repeated, then moved into sing-song. "Rollin' the dice for money and nice..."

Money? A bar of tension shot across John's shoulders. "It's. not. like. that."

There was a glint in her eye, and he steeled himself for more nastiness, but suddenly the spark vanished. With a hollow laugh, she looked down at her lap.

"My dad was nice to me. He was a connivin' sonuvabitch to everyone else, but he wanted me to have everything, wanted me to learn to fight for myself. He was so proud when I made it through school. I wanted his smile more than that degree."

She looked up. Her eyes gleamed but she didn't cry. "But reality always bites ya. He got too sick to cope. It didn't matter how much I loved him. He's gone."

John rubbed his arm behind his back. He knew Harley didn't like talking about her dad. John was the only one she ever raised the subject with, and those times were rare.

He uneasily approached the desk. "You still have the good memories," he said.

"And he's still gone." Her voice hardened, and he was close enough now to smell the beer on her breath. "That's the lesson, puddin'. Nothin' matters. Whatever ya let yourself get wrapped up in, yer only settin' yourself up for hurt." She leaned forward. "But I think ya know that. That's why in Arkham, whenever some calamity had people runnin' around with their heads cut off, you'd just be laughin', 'cause who cares? The same reason I found ya on that roof."

He took a sharp breath, because he did not want to talk about _that_ , but then she reached out to him, her palm open.

"Everything passes, big and small. The absurdity can compel ya to end it, or you can slide right to the other end of the scale, where the pointlessness of it all means you can do so much more." Her eyes went wide, excited. "I see that in you, John, somethin'... somethin' gnarled and hungry and so close to ready. You can have everything if ya throw control to the wind, if ya stop lookin' for rules, for a _leash_. You can have true _freedom_."

She smiled, close-lipped but fond. "I feel like I'm almost there, if I just have one helpful push in the right direction, and... and I think it could come from you."

Harley had never been this open with John, and for a moment he forgot to breathe. For months he'd struggled to figure out what she wanted, and finally she just came out with it. He felt a trill of happiness. Knowing he could help her was a gift. He rested his hand in hers and smiled back.

"We can have lots of fun, Harley," he said reassuringly. "We could even do it without people getting hurt!"

Her smile fell. "What?"

"Bruce was just saying earlier, you can still have a blast when--" 

She snatched her hand away and whipped the chair around.

John pulled his hand to his chest as if she'd scratched him. "Harley--"

"Kitty's gonna have to wait until after lunchtime." Her hand appeared at the side of the chair and dismissed him. "I'm not ready for company."

He hesitantly moved to the door. "Alright."

"When reality comes a-callin'," she said coldly, "you let me know if the memories keep you cozy."

* * *

After he shut the office door, John held onto the nearby railing and pulled in steady breaths. Below him, Bruce was talking to Catwoman, who gestured earnestly. But of course John preferred to look at Bruce.

A few days ago, hearing all that from Harley would have been exactly what he wanted. He did have some idea of what she was talking about, after all. Sometimes he felt a creeping presence lurking under his own skin, something that wanted to break free and sink its teeth into... into the world, he supposed, whatever that would look like.

Bruce-- careful, restrained-- probably wouldn't like that part of John, but at this point it wasn't much of a problem. John had felt the presence less and less with each day he spent with Bruce, just like he'd felt less and less attached to Harley. Of course, the single flashing light of logic in his brain warned that he already knew this couldn't last, that Harley was right, that he hadn't made a sensible choice just now... but all other cerebral sectors were having a rave in Bruce's honor.

Suddenly he realized that Catwoman stood alone, staring up at him, and Bruce was climbing the stairs.

"What happened?" Bruce asked quietly, eyes on the door.

"She's not ready," John called down to Catwoman. He met Bruce at the top step and grabbed his hand to pull him back down.

"And when will she be?" Catwoman asked when they reached the bottom.

"A couple hours?" he estimated.

Bruce squeezed his hand. "Hey," he said, "I think you could use a slushie." He gestured to Catsy. "Plus Catwoman says there are shady characters up top and she doesn't think we should leave it to 'the lackeys' to assess them."

"Why not?" John asked. A couple of goons had routinely guarded the main entrance ever since the squatters were ejected, and it seemed to work fine so far.

"Security just doesn't seem to be a focal point," Catwoman replied, glancing to the side.

John followed her gaze. A cluster of men stood around Raj and Alphonso, each doing a handstand while holding onto the seat of a chair-- or at least they were trying. Their legs flailed and they managed to knock each other over at the same time.

Dmitri saw John watching and folded his arms. "If Bruce didn't show everyone he could do it yesterday, Bane wouldn't have said we have to!"

"Which just goes to show," Catwoman continued, pulling back John's attention, "Bruce has a good head on his shoulders even upside down. He could check things out and grab you that slushie while I show you the goggles to show Harley. I can't stay until she sobers up."

John would much rather go on a slushie run, and besides... "I don't think she's going to be in the mood to talk to me much more today." He avoided Bruce's eyes. "Maybe you could come back later?"

"Show me the device," boomed Freeze's voice. He sat on the meeting platform, examining some contraption or other. "Let's not have someone's mood delay us further."

"Oh, I thought..." Catwoman looked from Freeze to John and Bruce. "It just seems..."

She was being weird again. "Seems what?" John prompted.

Bruce seemed to think he knew. "John's no slouch either," he said, then added jokingly, "Especially if we need to use projectile explosives."

"Yeah!" John agreed, standing at his full height. "I'm not just the comic relief!"

"I didn't mean..." She took a resigned breath. "I'm sure explosives won't be necessary. You guys can handle yourselves."

"We should be back soon," Bruce said.

Freeze called over again. "If they have white cherry, acquire an iced beverage for me as well."

* * *

After strolling the area outside the rusty maintenance door that led from the street to the station, Bruce concluded that nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

John agreed. "Nobody out here but the usual characters."

"I'm sure it pays to be a little paranoid in Cat Lady's line of work," Bruce said as they continued on to a nearby bodega.

"I guess," John said. A thought occurred to him. "Still, it was almost like she just wanted to get you up here alone..."

Bruce rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Didn't you say she has some association with Batman?"

"Yeah, she was with him when the Children of Arkham reinvented the city's debate club."

Bruce grinned. "She wanted to talk to you. Maybe she has a message for you from your hero."

"Wh-what?"

"That miscreant Wayne is no good for you, Doe," Bruce said, mimicking John's approximation of Batman's growl. "Join me on the light side. I'll bundle you off in my cape."

John giggled. He'd only heard a bit of Batman's voice in the Arkham cafeteria, but as far as he was concerned, Bruce's imitation was excellent-- and was resurfacing many scenarios John had conjured in his, uh, private hours. But right now they were in public and had just arrived at the store. 

While Bruce collected a few of the day's papers, John bounced over to the slushie machine. He filled a small cup with Freeze's requested flavor before grabbing the biggest size for himself. That cup received multiple alternating layers of every flavor on offer.

Bruce came over holding up the Gotham Gazette. "They still don't know what caused that blackout the other night," he said with much concern.

John snickered as he picked one of the colorful straws with a spooned end. "Really? I heard there was a handsome devil involved."

Bruce's face fell, and John wondered what he'd said wrong until he realized Bruce was looking past him. He looked back and saw just the rows of snack shelves and the bodega windows, patched here and there with ads and cigarette prices.

"Come on," Bruce said warily.

He paid for everything, and as they left he put his arm around John's waist. As John sipped from his straw, he shot a questioning look at Bruce's dead serious face.

"Someone was looking in at us," Bruce said quietly. "And someone's following us now. Don't look."

"Uh, so we just let him keep following?" John replied.

"I don't want to make a scene," Bruce said, eyes flicking to the passersby. "Just a little further."

After a couple more blocks, they turned onto an empty street. Bruce pulled John against the wall and set the newspapers and Freeze's slushie on the ground. Eyes locked on the corner, they waited quietly-- until John's straw started to make that airy noise. 

"John!" Bruce scolded quietly. 

John quickly pulled the slushie from his mouth. "Eh heh, sorry!" he whispered.

Finally a figure reached the corner, and Bruce grabbed it by the lapels of its charcoal trenchcoat. A matching fedora toppled to the ground as Bruce swung the figure around to switch their positions, pushing it against the wall. The moment froze as he and John looked at the bespectacled old man staring wide-eyed back at Bruce.

"Alfred Pennyworth!" John exclaimed at the same time that Bruce, blinking, said, "Al?"

Alfred's expression turned scolding. "Who else would I be? The bloody Prince of Wales?"

"Are you?" John asked, as Bruce abruptly let Alfred go. 

Bruce took off his flat cap and rubbed at his bandage. "Sorry, I... Sorry." He'd obviously managed to recognize Alfred, but John could tell by the squint of his eyes that nothing more was coming to him.

"What on earth happened?" Alfred asked, reaching for the dressings.

Bruce quickly replaced the hat. "It looks worse than it is," he said.

"Not just that," Alfred said. "I haven't heard from you in days!" He turned his gaze on John and said tersely, "Your voice sounds familiar, though."

"Oh, uh, I..." John nervously retrieved the fedora from the ground. "I may have forgotten to mention that you... uh... called."

Bruce raised his eyebrows. "He called?"

"He wasn't very polite!" John said. "But let bygones be bygones, right, old chap?" He handed over the hat magnanimously. 

Alfred yanked it from his grip. "I've been worrying myself sick."

"You could have called back!" John said defensively.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Bruce asked.

John rotated his slushie in his hands. "I... I was mad... and after that I just forgot, I swear! I mean, he called yesterday morning, and then we got caught up in... other things."

Bruce's agitation subsided and he laughed. "I guess we did." He sighed and gestured between him and Alfred. "This is John Doe."

Alfred didn't look any more forgiving, so in another attempt to make peace, John stuck out a hand. "I'm thrilled to meet you, all things considered!"

The butler glanced between the two other men, but relented and shook John's hand. "I am not that compelling a character."

"Oh, sure you are!" John insisted. "You're the man behind the scenes! You show up in, what, like a third of Bruce Wayne tabloid photos?"

"I haven't kept count."

"Who could?"

"Speaking of tabloids," Alfred said, turning back to Bruce, "it's fine they seem to think you're in Florida, but I expect to know better." He pulled something small from his pocket. "I tracked your earpiece to an alleyway off Eighteenth. It was very concerning to find you weren't with it."

"Ah, well..." Bruce took the ear bud with a shrug. "You know these things, so easy to lose."

Alfred's wary expression reminded John a lot of when Catwoman first showed up-- and then Alfred mentioned her. "Selina seemed to think I'd get the chance to speak with you alone," he said, glancing at John.

So Catsy did know Bruce after all? Then why did she pretend she didn't? Curious... but John was focused on Alfred for now. "Oh, Mr. Pennyworth, you coulda just asked the guys up top to come down and talk to Bruce! We can be a friendly bunch. Sometimes. Depending. What's today, Thursday?"

"I don't know what you would say to me that you couldn't say in front of John," Bruce said.

Alfred's face twisted slightly. "Well, you... enjoy your discretion. I can't imagine after just a few days you'd happily divulge every family secret to new... friends."

"What does this have to do with family secrets?" Bruce asked. "The only 'secret' is me participating in a criminal syndicate, and that's obviously not hidden from you."

"No," Alfred said carefully. "Sir, are you feeling well? Selina seemed to think your behavior was uncharacteristic, though admittedly she has been away for a year."

"Well, there you go," Bruce said just as carefully. "A whole year. I almost didn't recognize her."

Alfred looked almost stunned. "I'd hardly think hers would be an unrecognizable face."

John linked his arm with Bruce's and said, "Well, he was pretty drunk when she showed up."

"Drunk?" Alfred repeated.

"I've never been a teetotaler," Bruce said.

Alfred's frustrated expression slid to John again as he pulled another item from his pocket. "Your companion mentioned there was an issue with unlocking your phone." Alfred handed Bruce a small square, which John realized was a USB drive. "This should help the problem. I hope then we can have our usual _private_ discussions on your business matters."

Bruce took the stub. "Alright."

"I imagine you have multiple messages from your business associates," Alfred added pointedly. "One of them in particular has been very perturbed that you haven't kept up contact, and my reassurances that you're doing what's needed for her project mean increasingly less to her."

"Don't I have secretaries to handle that kind of thing?" Bruce said, winking at John, who laughed at their private joke.

"Not this thing," Alfred said sharply. "Bruce, I appreciate that... that your conduct changes as needed for every situation, but I think this carelessness has gotten out of hand. For days, I..." His expression softened. "My best hint you were alive was that the charges on your credit card were only partially outlandish."

Bruce's brow furrowed and he detached from John. "I'm sorry," he said again, putting a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "I don't want you to worry more than you have to. I'll check the messages and we'll get back on track."

"Please do. That particular associate is... unpredictable. I'm not sure what she's up to, but we should discuss when you're not indisposed."

"Absolutely, Al." After a squeeze, Bruce dropped his hand.

Alfred looked at his watch. "I'm going to be late meeting with Tiffany. She's been concerned about your whereabouts as well."

Tiffany! John remembered Ti-- ohhh, yeah. He rubbed the back of his head. "Probably best if you don't mention you saw me."

"I should think not, after I did my best to erase you from the security feed."

John perked up. "Aw, you shouldn't have." At Alfred's raised eyebrow, John added, "Like in a figurative way. Obviously you had to, but still, I really appreciate it. Go team!" He raised his hand for a high five.

Alfred looked to Bruce. "I'll be on my way, sir."

"Thanks for putting out my fires," Bruce replied.

With a stiff nod, Alfred turned and left the way he came.

And John was left hanging. He dropped his arm. "I haven't made a great impression, have I?" he sighed.

Bruce was preoccupied. He'd stepped out from the corner to watch Alfred go. "Do you ever get the feeling after a conversation," he said, "that you and the other person were talking about two completely different things?"

"Yeah, all the time," John said. "Why?"

With a laugh, Bruce turned back and surprised him with a kiss on the cheek. "You can have a do-over for your first impression when things settle down. Right now, let's go and see if my phone clears up what's going on with Catwoman. And everything else."

They continued on their way. As they walked, John sipped his slushie and read the article about the power outage mystery. The media knew that something had been taken from the Agency convoy during the event, and they were in quite a tizzy trying to figure out what. John felt a whirling glee at being in the exclusive club that knew all the details.

Alongside the feature, another article was capped with a picture of the batsignal lighting up the clouds. This writer wondered where Batman was during all of the hullabaloo. As stealthy as the hero was, people could still report evidence of his activities: stray batarangs, rescued mugging victims, the blur of the Batmobile, et cetera. Ever since the vigilante's encounter with Bane at the armory, however, there had been no credible sightings.

Huh, Batman had been missing in action about as long as Bruce had been staying at Old Five Points.

Weird.

...

Waitaminute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, I just about know how this is ending, probably in two more chapters. (Still with no planned release times, sorry.)


	6. We Need to Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a bunch of conflict in honor of Thanksgiving!
> 
> (Also, I changed the summary to better reflect the tone of the story. I think.)

Bruce was the correct height and build. Bruce could afford the armor and gadgets. Bruce received the info about Lady Arkham before Batman stopped her. Bruce knew Catwoman, even if he didn't remember. Bruce had fresh wounds after Batman's fight with Bane. Bruce had a billion other scars that couldn't be explained by water polo.

Bruce was Batman.

And Bruce was John's boyfriend.

So transitively, Batman was John's--

Jeez, Johnny, what about how Batman had obviously intended to infiltrate the Pact?! Correction: _had_ infiltrated the Pact and settled right in?

Reverse correction: it was the blank-minded Bruce part that had settled in and participated in criminal activity that Batman would obviously disapprove of.

Wow, Bruce was not going to be happy when he realized he'd acted so contrary to his principles.

Or that John lied to him about the nature of their relationship, couldn't forget that.

But this meant that Bruce had lied to John first!

Though John knew perfectly well that two wrongs didn't make a right. Plus Batman didn't do wrongs; he'd acted to protect the city, unlike John who'd succumbed to peer pressure.

Because Batman-- Bruce-- was a good guy.

And John was a bad guy.

Harley's voice taunted him. _Usually guys like him aren't even friends with guys like you._

Oh, jeez, this was too much, too soon--

"John?"

He came back to himself and turned around. Bruce waited by the hideout door; John had walked right past it. His eyes zoomed in on Bruce's chin, the same strong square as Batman's.

"I hope you didn't want to finish that," Bruce said.

John looked down. The Gotham Gazette was crumpled in his left hand, and his right hand loosely held his drink almost upside down. Slushie had dribbled out the top in a colorful trail leading back down the sidewalk.

"I..." What should he say? What should he do? He lifted his hand to rub at his head, but it still held the slushie cup and he stared at it.

"Uh, okay." Bruce came over and took the cup. He tossed it onto a nearby heaping trash can, then tucked the Gazette with the other papers under his left arm. "Maybe all the sugar and Alfred were too much?" he guessed, because John certainly wasn't helping.

"I feel sick." That wasn't a lie.

"Come on." Holding Freeze's slushie, Bruce slung his right arm around John's shoulders. The chilled cup pressed into John's arm as Bruce walked him to the door and rapped on the metal.

After a cautious peek, the guard let them in. They made their way down the concrete steps. The lighting really was dim enough that it was plausible for someone to fall. But Bruce hadn't, of course, and he wouldn't have, because he was Batman. And when Bruce remembered that, he'd combine it with everything he'd seen, and he'd be able to ruin everyone's plans, and everyone would fight him, and Batman would obviously win, and then... John stopped and groaned.

"We're almost to the bed," Bruce said, urging him on.

Okay, bed, sure. Fake sick, like kids on TV skipping school. Use the time to figure out what to do.

Except Bruce's phone was in the hacienda, and he'd want to use Alfred's decoder to get to those messages right away, and there was bound to be all kinds of proof about the person he really was, and then...

John stopped again at the landing, before they exited into the commuter entryway and crossed to the station doors. He grabbed Bruce in a tight hug.

"You're not going to throw up, are you?" Bruce said, only half-joking but returning the embrace.

John shook his head, rubbing his face into Bruce's shirt. "Just... need a second. Harley, uh, she..."

Bruce's hold tightened. "What did she say to you up there?"

John shook his head again, laughing weakly. He looked up. "She always says I overdo it on sugar."

"Oh." Bruce looked only slightly sheepish. "Well, come on."

When Bruce turned to open the door, John slipped the pickpocketed USB square into his own back pocket.

When they entered the station, Catwoman was gone. Freeze hadn't moved from his chair, and Bruce handed off the slushie to him. Harley still hadn't emerged, Freeze reported, but Bane had warned her that if she didn't come out soon, he'd bust through the door and get the laptop himself.

As Bruce followed John into the hacienda, he commented, "Guess we'll figure out the next job soon enough."

John headed right for the air mattress, climbed onto it, curled up on his side, and pulled the blanket over his head. Concealed, he gnawed nervously on his thumb.

"Is it that bad?" Bruce asked.

John let out an affirming noise.

"Do you want the play-by-play of what's on this phone, or..." Cloth rustled. "Dammit," Bruce hissed. "I didn't give you the drive, did I?"

John let out a negative noise.

More rustling. "Don't tell me..." Bruce sighed heavily. "It must've fallen out of my pocket somehow. I'm going to retrace our steps. Do you want me to draw the curtains?"

Another negative noise.

"Alright, I'll be back soon."

The door hinges squeaked.

John stayed under the blanket. Okay. He had the USB drive, so there was no risk for Bruce jogging his memory. So he just had to keep the drive away from Bruce.

But wasn't Bruce slowly remembering things anyway? Wouldn't Alfred try calling back? Wouldn't Catsy keep trying to help?

Wasn't the smartest move to just admit the whole truth now and accept the consequences?

John didn't like that question enough to answer it, plus he needed to use this time to hide the decoder before Bruce came back.

He flung off the blanket and got to his feet. He patted his pocket to make sure the square was still there, and he caught sight of Bruce's phone under a toppled copy of The Turn of the Screw on the bookshelf. He snatched the phone up, too, for good measure.

John burst out of the hacienda and rushed through the main doors to the service tunnels. He took the same yellow-lit path toward the old sewer and scrambled through the tunnel dug through the wall. This time he turned right, toward the cave-in. You couldn't see the collapsed concrete at that point. You had to make another right turn, and even then it was still down a long way, plus you had to find it blind; the last working light was at that turn. But John didn't need to venture into the dark.

Out of breath, he frantically pulled at protruding bricks as he walked along the wall. He didn't know why he felt so edgy; no one knew he was here, and this was abso-defin-lutely a good plan, yup. He got to the corner and finally found a loose brick. He jerked it out of the dirt, pushed the phone and the USB square into the hole, and shoved the brick back in place. There!

He finally noticed a noise, regular and deep and airy. Breathing.

John curled his fingers around the corner and slowly poked his head out. He regretted it instantly.

Against a black backdrop, a hulk bigger than Bane nearly filled the tunnel; he hunched to fit under the ceiling, but as he shuffled his bulk sideways along the platform, he moved with ease. Other than a pair of tattered blue shorts, he was covered in olive green scales. Most of the scales were thick, getting almost spiky over his back and around the temples and brows. The scales faded to a lighter shade and smoother texture across the expanse of his chest and stomach. Long onyx claws arched from the tips of his fingers and toes.

He focused on the wall, but after a moment he noticed John and turned his head. The creature's massive jaws jutted forward, and when his cracked lips parted, they revealed pointed yellow teeth, slotting into each other at angles. His nose was barely more than two slits in the middle of his face, and above that, his eyes glowed like fireflies.

The Croc's eyes shifted from John to a jagged, concave piece of debris in his massive hand. He used his claws to grab a writhing mass from the bowl, and as he tipped his head back, he opened his mouth wide. He dropped in the grubs and worms and other squirmies, and chewed slowly. His stare returned to John. Larval juices leaked from the corner of his mouth.

"Hello?" John squeaked.

A narrow, forked tongue lashed out to sweep up the juices. Croc returned the greeting with a nod, then turned back to the wall. A sweep of his hand sent stone scattering; another sweep took away a layer of dirt, revealing a smorgasbord of bugs.

John's still-living status restored some of his bravado. "Late lunch?"

With plucks of his claws, Croc began to refill his plate. He grunted in confirmation.

"You wouldn't rather... Don't you eat... people?"

The creature's chest rumbled with a gruff laugh. "Offering?" His voice was deep and raspy.

John shrunk back so only his eyes were visible. "No."

"Hrm. Rather not anyway. Less trouble."

That was a weird thing to say, and John was too curious not to push his luck. "Didn't we cause trouble for those squatters? They're your friends, aren't they?"

Croc took a deep, somber breath and looked down at his bowl. "Too many guns to try to help. Told friends to leave. Better to wait."

John wasn't sure that was what he would do, but then again, keeping your head down was a smart strategy-- Harley's strategy. His troubles zipped to the front of his mind again. "That should pay off," he said with a sad smile. The Pact had the black site at their fingertips, so once they raided it... "I think we're leaving soon."

"Good."

"Then your friends can come back."

Croc hummed again. "Maybe. Gone up top. Might like it there better."

"But-- but!" John stepped out from the corner. "They'd be leaving you down here!"

"Friends should see more sun. It's good."

John's stomach started to feel as squirmy as Croc's lunch. "You should be upset. Are they really your friends?"

Croc tipped his head back again, and this time he lifted the whole dish and tipped it into his gullet. John could see the half-face on the bottom of the "bowl" now, the blackened sealed mouth and the barely visible B-heart-J across the cheeks and nose.

After swallowing, Croc wiped his mouth with the back of his leathery arm. "Not the first people who had to leave. Lots of time to be sad and think. Don't want friends stuck where they don't belong."

John folded his arms and grumbled, "What are you, some kind of ginormous, scaly shoulder angel?"

Croc dropped his dish and stretched his arms as much as he was able, as if trying to get them around his yawn. "Tired," he replied, then started to slowly turn.

"Uh, that's it?" John said. "You're just going to wander off from a stranger who threatens your privacy?"

"Conversation nice."

"But I could tell people that I saw you."

"No one will believe the funny one," Croc said as he completed the turn.

John felt stung for a moment, but then replied, "I'm choosing to take the second half as a compliment." His frowned deepened and he called at Croc's back, "Hold on! Have you been watching us?"

The creature disappeared into the shadows, and his disembodied reply echoed. "Goodbye, jester man."

"You better not have seen anything private!" John shouted, but got no response. Even the deep breathing faded into the dark.

Well, anything Croc had seen must have been from a distance. There was no way someone that big could do any real sneaking to, like, watch John and Bruce sleep or--

Bruce. Crap.

John gave the loose brick one last look. The crocodile man wasn't talking sense. If John was him, he'd go up top and let his friends know he could never let them go! That was dedication. That was caring. How was there more to it than that?

He continued to reassure himself as he hurried back through the dirt hole to the service tunnels. John wasn't doing anything wrong; he was buying time until he figured out the right thing to do. If two people cared about each other enough, there had to be a solution. Like maybe if he hit Bruce over the head again-- No, no, that was not a caring solution.

He hadn't gotten close to any good ideas by the time he re-entered Old Five Points, where both his brain and limbs froze. Bruce had gotten back first and was about to enter the house, his hand raised to push the door, but he stopped too when he saw John.

Bruce frowned. "I thought you were sick."

John resisted the urge to turn and run away. "Oh, yeah, but I think it was one of those, uh, twenty-four-minute bugs."

"Where did you go?"

"Just for some fresh air in the tunnels!" John finally broke the paralysis and walked over, thumbs in his pockets. "You find that drive thing?"

"No sign of it."

If John ignored Bruce's look of suspicion, it would go away. "Hm, maybe it'll turn up. Or maybe you lost it down a sewer grate. Oh, but don't check any sewers. So gross, right?"

By some miracle, Harley chose that moment to burst from her office. "Board meeting, boys!" she shouted. "LET'S GO!"

"Whup, better get going!" John said, strolling along.

"John," Bruce said, "hold on a sec--"

"You know Harley isn't one for waiting!" John dashed up the stairs.

* * *

Harley sat behind her desk with the laptop in front of her. The decrypter lay to her left and the made-to-order goggles were perched on her head. John had expected the goggles to look more like glasses, but they were basically a flat back band that looped around the head.

Bruce knew something was up, but it didn't deter him from standing next to John by the vanity displaying Harley's bat. John kept sneaking looks at him, but Bruce didn't look at John at all. His expression was flat and his gaze stayed on the laptop.

Freeze stood to Bruce's left, directly in front of the desk. Bane came last, squeezing through the doorway to complete the semi-circle. He closed the door behind him.

"Will our operation continue," Bane asked Harley, "or are you inviting us to play beer pong?"

Harley smiled sweetly. "Well, you'd be better at beer pong than ping pong. Yer not the most agile fella."

"Exchanging barbs also prevents progress," Freeze spoke up. "Let's get on with it."

"Let's do!" Harley stuck the decrypter into the laptop port. The machine requested the retinal scan, and she lowered the goggles over her face, pressing a button near her right ear. The panels over the eyes lit up with iris-like lights, orange fanning out into green. It looked ridiculous and John couldn't help giggling. If Harley heard, she didn't acknowledge it; she leaned toward the camera at the top of the laptop screen.

"Access granted," announced the computer.

Harley pulled off the goggles and tossed them aside. "Alright, where is this friggin' black site?" she grumbled, her fingers sliding over the touchpad.

"Black site? That sounds ominous," Bruce said.

Freeze moved around the back of the desk to Harley's side. "Did you think we were planning to rob sweet shops?" he asked, scanning the screen.

"I think for this job," Bane said to Bruce, slightly louder than necessary, "we should keep you and John partnered up. Dedication is integral to any mission."

Bruce finally looked at John then, his expression still closed off, and John felt like he was shrinking. A subdued "sure" was all that came out of Bruce's mouth.

Bane's brow furrowed and his gaze bounced between them. "Or maybe there is trouble in paradise that should be addressed before we get moving," he muttered.

Harley and Freeze had fallen into low conversation, but she suddenly burst into laughter. "With all the bizarre things people do in spas, maybe they would suck down incubated viruses!"

Bruce's gaze snapped to her. "Viruses?"

"A spa?" was Bane's response.

"Yeah, Bodhi Spa," Harley said. "Think I've heard yer men praise the happy endings there, though I'm surprised there's any joy in a place up ta this."

She spun the laptop around, showing several video thumbnails of people strapped upright in dollies. She reached over and started playing one, in which a white-coated scientist injected two struggling subjects with some blue elixir. In the next video, the male subject was slack and still, probably dead. The female subject writhed, showing the dark contusions on her face and a trail of what looked like blood from her right eye. After several seconds, her eyes rolled back and she went slack, too.

John giggled. Hoo boy, what a way to go! "The state of the healthcare system is truly abominable."

Bruce had gone very still. "What the hell could you want with a virus that does that?"

Freeze raised his gloved hand in a calming gesture. "It is harmful to almost the entire population," he explained, "but Riddler was lucky, and it actually improved his physiology. By combining his blood with the virus, we can create a nonlethal compound that will serve our various needs."

"You mean curing your wife," Bruce said. He looked around at the room warily. "What about the rest of you?"

"Oh, I'm good!" John said. "I'm just here to help."

"And what a help you've been," Harley said dully.

"That's right," John shot back.

She ignored him. "Brucie, my and Bane's problems are personal info ya don't gotta know."

Bruce frowned. "Okay, but... using one thing to address disparate problems is snake oil talk, and it's not like we're talking about different applications of vinegar here. You're taking something fatal--"

"I have done the calculations," Freeze interrupted, "and the compound will have an overall healing effect."

"You're still taking a huge risk."

"Nobody asked you," Harley snapped. "Last time I checked, yer degree was an MBA."

Bruce folded his arms. "Forgive me for giving a crap about your well-being."

"Ha! Since when? All you care about is Johnny-boy."

"I have done everything you've asked of me," Bruce retorted. "If that's not enough, feel free to give me more."

"Unless it involves doin' real dirty work." She stood up. "You can avoid snuffin' lights for only so long in this line a' work, Brucie. When it comes to the bottom line, yer only gonna be an impediment."

Bane shrugged. "We can handle the bloodshed."

"Not all of us," Harley said, still glaring at Bruce. "You keep puttin' wishy-washy nonsense in John's head, it's gonna get 'im killed or worse."

"You don't get to pretend you actually care about John," Bruce snapped.

Harley's jaw clenched, and she climbed on top of the desk, jumping over it to stand in front of Bruce.

"We are straying very far from our objective!" Freeze said uneasily.

John's eyes darted from Bruce's face to Harley's, only inches apart from each other.

"You think I'm the one pretendin', rich boy?" Harley hissed, "You've been here fer less than a week, in an excitin' la-la land havin' a tryst with yer manic pixie dream boy." She jabbed her finger into his chest. "Whether ya remember or not, you were in Arkham fer a matter of hours. I was there fer years. I know John better than you. I know his problems, and I know his potential, and I know all yer doin' is ruinin' it."

Bruce sneered. "Your idea of his potential," he said, "is just taking everything unique about him and making it a reflection of yourself, twisted and cruel. You don't care what he wants."

"Oh, sweetie." Her eyes glittered. "I don't gotta make 'im a reflection. He already does just what he wants. That's been made pretty clear." Her wild look switched to John. "And ya know, if ya wanna try the injection, puddin', yer free to. All those restoratives could do ya some good."

Bruce grabbed her wrist, and Harley yanked free and reached for her bat, and John got a hold of the bat first and pushed between them.

"Oh-ho-ho-okay!" John said with a chattering laugh, clutching the weapon to his chest. "This is all very flattering, but, uh..." He moved one hand to grab the front of Bruce's jacket and push him toward the door. "I think Bruce is having a bad head injury day! Acute onset of crankiness, you know."

Bane stepped out of the way, arms folded. "You should have let them tussle."

John handed the bat to him. "Oh, yeah, that could be fun!" Except this was no playfight, except they'd all underestimated Bruce far too much. "But it really is time to have another checkeroo under that bandage! Why don't you guys figure out the next steps?" He reached around Bruce to push the door open.

About a dozen goons scattered away from the door. Most of them scrambled downstairs, but Raj and Tim pretended to have been leaning casually against the railing, and Alphonso and a couple others were off the corner smoking unlit cigarettes.

Bruce allowed himself to be steered over the threshold, though his glare stayed locked on Harley until John closed the door. John wasn't sure what to say, but Bruce grabbed him around the shoulders and pulled him past the men totally minding their own business.

"I know what Freeze said sounds unbelievable," John said they came to the stairs, "but he ran his numbers and everything."

"You're absolutely not injecting yourself with that," Bruce said harshly.

"I already said I wasn't."

Bruce hit each step heavily. "There's something wrong about it."

"Why would anyone use something that would kill them?" John chortled.

"People get stuck on what they want to see all the time," Bruce replied. At the bottom of the stairs, he took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair, past the bandage. "I need my phone. I must know... I have the right connections to have someone rerun Freeze's data."

"Yeah, maybe," John said, "but first let's take a gander at your head. And then grab some early dinner, maybe see a movie..."

Bruce didn't protest as John pulled him into their house, and he sat cooperatively on the bed as John retrieved the first aid kit. John took his time unwrapping the bandage, and when he was done, he wished he'd taken longer. 

When they'd done this after their shower, he hadn't noticed; the wound had scabbed over well enough that it would do better in open air. He remembered that from being treated in Arkham, just like he remembered Dr. Leland doing her best to help him interact with people, explaining communication and honesty.

"You're about ready to be discharged," John tried to joke. He let the long strip of gauze drift to the floor.

Bruce lightly held John's hand. "I know you hid my things," he said quietly.

"You do?"

"How you've been acting." Bruce nodded toward the bookshelf. "Plus I saw the phone there earlier, and now it's gone." He sighed. "I knew you'd have anxiety about me remembering, and I wanted to give you a chance to get through it, but I don't want to break my promise to Alfred."

John sat next to him and stared at the floor. "Things will change."

"Why would they?"

Even now, John reached for a lie. "Maybe... maybe there's already someone in your life you just don't remember. Someone who has lots of qualities your full brain likes." Someone honest.

Bruce pulled John tight to his side. "I remembered your face. I get inklings of what feels wrong and what feels right. If there is such a person and I remembered you over them... I don't think it bodes well for that relationship."

The persistent doubt must have been plain on John's face, and Bruce stroked John's arm with his thumb and went on. "You've taken care of me. You make me laugh. We have fun. I love fooling around with you. When my memory comes back, none of that goes away."

John's laugh tasted bitter. "I think you're using that Wayne charm on yourself."

"Hey."

John looked up, and Bruce's expression was serious and nervous.

"I'm not stupid. I know it's only been days and that Harley knows more about you than I do. But there's more to you that she doesn't see, and unlike her, I want to get to know all of you. And you can get to know all of me, when I'm back to myself, if you want to take that time together."

A vigilante shouldn't be able to look so endearing, like a puppy afraid of being kicked. John could almost pretend it was still hours ago, when he thought Bruce was a man looking to gain ground in the criminal world for thrills and power. With that man, there had been a chance that he could get past a lie, that he really did like John that much.

But that's not who Bruce was. Bruce was someone better, who wanted to help people, who didn't want even criminals to get hurt, and that urge was so strong that it bled through amnesia. He didn't belong down here.

"You're Batman," John blurted out.

Bruce's eyes went wide, and his mouth worked noiselessly. Finally sound came out. "That's, uh... Is that what you think?" He laughed. "I can see why that would make you worried, but there's no way--"

"I just figured it out today. It makes perfect sense, and everything on that phone is going to prove it."

"John, that's ridic--"

"I hid your things in the tunnels. Head for the cave-in, and look behind a brick at the corner."

Bruce was frozen in place for long moments, struggling with the idea, and John thought he saw something ghost behind his eyes. Then Bruce shook his head and stood up with determination. "When I get into my phone, you'll see. That... That's not what's going on."

"Okay," John said, clutching the edge of the mattress.

"I'll be right back," Bruce said, replacing his hat. Gripping John's shoulder, he bent down and kissed him firmly on the forehead.

John chuckled, because it was a sweet lie even if Bruce didn't know it.

* * *

It struck John that Bruce might not use the decoder right away, that he might bring it back to the house first, so John went back to the office. Harley didn't question Bruce's absence. After a long time of her, Freeze, and Bane plotting and negotiating, they determined that only the core group would raid the spa. They would do it in the early morning, before sunrise but after bar-goers got their end-of-night massages, when only staff would be on-site.

"This is just gonna be a smash-and-grab, got it?" Harley said. She looked from man to man, John last.

He nodded, shoulders hunched and head bowed. "Got it, Harley."

Her face twisted with confusion, but then Bane called the meeting to an end. He wanted to rally his men to provide the best security for their leaders' return, and Freeze needed to prepare his lab.

Before Harley could ask him to stay behind, John returned to the hacienda. He immediately noticed his copy of The Odyssey left in the middle of the bed. He flipped through the pages, and on a blank one at the end, he found neatly printed letters.

> I need to process. You'll hear from me.

John clapped the book shut. He breathed in, and out, and in, and out. He tried to think of nothing but Dr. Leland's voice. When he slipped the book back into place on the shelf, his hands were steady. Then he jammed them under the air mattress and flung it upward. It hit the ceiling, then toppled down, knocking the shelf over, scattering books and newspapers and knick-knacks. The blanket and sheets fell loose and slipped to the ground. John sat beside the bare pallets, clutching his knees with his chin tucked to his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Gonna keep this one light!" I said when I started this. "Nothin' but silliness!" I said. :|


	7. Moving On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays/Sunday, everyone!

Sometimes John's emotions boiled over, spilled out through his mouth and his hands, and unpleasant things happened. So Dr. Leland had taught him plenty of strategies for tamping down violent urges, because violence didn't solve problems, no matter how much anger those problems generated.

But John wasn't actually feeling violent at the moment-- physically. Emotionally, he berated himself. He should have been more wary of the whole situation, of Harley pushing him to lie to begin with and for falling for the lie himself. He'd seen this on TV and in books so many times: unbelievable whirlwind romances that inevitably erupted in heartbreak.

But didn't those stories usually end with the love interest coming back? Bruce hadn't said he wasn't coming back. He'd said...

Pah, who was John kidding? He was far from the endearing protagonists in those stories. He was a former mental patient turned budding criminal who hung out with more accomplished criminals. If Bruce came back, it'd be with handcuffs, not an engagement ring.

Oh, gosh, would Bruce have gone so far as to marry--

Wait, was Bruce going to take him to _jail?!_

Leave it to John to invest everything in a person who'd re-institutionalize him. He was a complete idiot! Could he even go crawling back to Harley now? He'd have to tell her Bruce's secret, and then she'd kill him for letting Bruce leave.

But he should tell her, since Bruce was probably coming back with the GCPD. The whole Pact was in danger. They needed to disappear.

Just as soon as John was able to lug himself out of this hole he'd crawled into to die.

Well, metaphorically it was a hole. In actuality, it was a cave formed by the mattress when it fell against the wall. John had dragged the fallen bookcase out of the way and tugged over a case of Santa Prisca beer. Then he'd draped the sheets and blanket over the cave mouth so he could close himself in and lonesomely drink enough beer to force his heart back down his throat.

Perhaps the fifth bottle was the charm.

The hacienda door slammed open. "I've been callin'-- John?"

Harley had indeed been calling him, by yelling across the station and lighting up his phone. The phone was worse. Every time John heard a bleep or ring, it gave him that stupid, _stupid_ hope that it was Bruce, but it was always Harley's name on the screen. Finally he'd turned the phone off and thrown it across the house.

Maybe if John kept quiet, he could stay miserable in peace.

It was a short-lived hope. Harley pulled the sheets away from the cave mouth and peered in, seeing him pressed against the wall. He lifted the bottle to shield his eyes from the light.

"What the heck are you and Moneybags up to now?" she asked, but as soon as she'd said it, she gasped. When John's eyes focused, he saw her knowing smile. "Oh dear."

"Go 'way," John muttered.

"Johnny, Johnny," she sighed. She crouched, hugging her knees. "Didn't I warn ya? He didn't get that playboy rep fer nothin'."

John thought back to what he'd said to Bruce, that maybe Bruce had someone else he'd forgotten about. What if that was true? Heck, Batman had only two known encounters with Catwoman, but wasn't she mighty interested in helping him remember?

Fifth drink had to be the charm.

"Okay, puddin'." Harley reached in and pulled the bottle away from his mouth. He tried to grab it back and she swatted his hand. "Feelin' sorry fer yerself isn't gonna make things better. Plus we're leavin' fer the job soon, remember?"

Right, the job. He should get back to the job. Just rewind to before Bruce was ever here-- but John still had to tell her about Bruce, about his secret, just as soon as he could muster the words. When Harley tugged at his upper arm, he followed, crawling out into the house. He sat on his knees beside her, feeling queasy.

She brushed his hair back from his forehead. "We'll get ya some coffee, and you'll feel right as rain by the time we leave. We'll get the virus and be right back on track."

Exactly. They were on the same page, and wasn't that nice? Oh, gosh, she was being too nice after John traded her for Bruce. How could he have done that? She was so confident and pretty and exciting. It was amazing she ever bothered with him at all.

"Don't you worry," she said sweetly. "Ya got yerself into this mess, but I'll help getcha out."

Right, because John was a pitiful wretch, hiding like a-- Wait. He scowled. " _You_ got me into this mess!"

She reflected his expression. "We've been over this! I toldja to play house, not apply fer a mortgage!"

"Me not knowing what that means doesn't mean this isn't your fault!"

"What does it even matter?" she snapped. "Moneybags is outta here! Lemme guess, he remembered he's got some white collar scam goin' that'll make him loads more than anything us lowlives could dream up."

"No," John said, "Bruce would never--"

"Brucie ain't yer prince charming!" Harley hollered. "All that talk of applyin' some kinda principles to what we do, and then he just took advantage and left ya here!" Her nails dug into his shoulder and she shook him. "I'm the one who's here for you! Don't you get that? We can do great, terrible things together!"

"I don't even know if I want to do that," John said, trying to rub the bleariness out of his face.

She scoffed and started to rise, to pull him up with her. "Of course ya do."

She wasn't listening to him. She never listened. At least Bruce had listened. John jerked away and stayed on his knees. "No," he snapped. "I said I don't know."

Harley stood tall and planted a hand on her hip. "Once we get ya sobered up--"

"I said no!" John backed into the cave.

"Yer actin' like a child!"

He flung the sheet closed. "Am not!"

Her shadow darkened the cloth, but she didn't pull it open again. "I really wanted ya to be there fer this, John. I hope you think long and hard about the fun yer missin' because ya had to get all weepy drunk over a pair of blue eyes!" After a pause, she snapped, "The wrong pair!"

It was all about her, as always. So why would she bother listening to him? So then why should John bother to tell her anything, even the truth about Bruce?

At least John would get to see Bruce again, even if it was in a raid.

What a pathetic thought. John started laughing.

Harley sucked in a breath. "Alright, ya know what? Yer back on janitorial duty!"

He just kept laughing in the dark, even after she left. God, he was an idiot before Bruce, too. All that talk about wanting to be "free" with John, and Harley still thought he was no better than hired help. She didn't respect him at all. She thought he only deserved respect if he acted just the way she wanted.

The laughter faded as heat spread from his chest, overtaking the unsatisfying fuzziness from the beer. Ideas sparked in his head, his own ideas about what people deserved. Memories of Dr. Leland fought forward, and John did breathe, he did count, but he felt like he was spinning with an extinguisher in the middle of a forest fire.

At some point, he heard Harley, Bane, and Freeze leave, but he didn't know how much time passed before the hacienda door swung open again, followed by the sound of Dmitri's snide voice. "Harley said Wayne gave you a pink slip and you've been demoted."

Two more breaths, and John crawled out of the cave and got to his feet. Dmitri stood there with his triumphant smirk, dangling the bucket of rags and bottles in one hand and holding out a mop with the other.

The next moment was noise- the clatter of bottles and Dmitri's shout-- and then Dmitri burst backwards through the hacienda door. When he landed on the floor, the bucket over his head hit the concrete with an echoing _thock_.

John stalked out of the house as Tim, Alphonso, and Raj sauntered over. They snickered and mocked Dmitri, but they quieted when they looked at John. John ignored them, his face bright bright bright with a smile at nothing in particular. He gripped the mop handle tightly as his eyes darted around the station. Above, the windows of Harley's office glowed from the lamps she'd left on.

"Uhhhh..." came a voice. John's stare shot to Tim, who started inching backward. "You wanna talk about it?" Tim finished.

"Someone should really put Harley's lights out," John chuckled. He headed for the stairs.

Less than a minute later, he stood in the middle of the office, and it didn't take long for the memories of spare affectionate touches and faint compliments to be overwhelmed by swats across the head and biting criticisms and endless condescension. His smile twisted into a snarl and he swept the mop across the desk, knocking everything to the floor. He cleaned off the vanity next, baseball bat and makeup and all. He let go of the mop at the end of the sweep, and it took out a mannequin. The overturned lamps put spotlights on the back wall, and John's shadow engulfed Harley's diploma before he snatched it and broke it over his knee. He ripped down half the city map and turned it into confetti.

The bookshelf was secured to the wall, but the books weren't, and he flung them over his shoulders, feeling a flare of delight when he heard a window pane break. He crossed to the center windows, shoving the vanity aside and tearing down the gauzy drapes. He ripped off the wooden slats nailed across the higher panes and gathered a bunch in a bundle. He smashed the bundle into every exposed square of glass, and then threw it aside because it wouldn't be enough to knock out the rotting inner frames.

For that, he grabbed the lower part of one of the muntins and ignored the leftover jags of glass cutting into his palms. With a few jerks, most of the grid broke off; he knocked out the rest when he flung the corkboard over the dresser. The dresser drawers were filled with all kinds of things-- more papers and money, clothes, medications, whatever-- that belonged to Harley and Riddler, but it didn't matter. John carried each drawer over to the gaping window frame and chucked it, contents spilling out as it fell.

"Harley is gonna lose it!" a voice hissed.

It was Tim again. He, Raj, and Alphonso crowded the doorway with similar expressions of dread.

Turning away, John spotted Harley's makeup kit where it had landed on the floor. He scooped it up, slammed it on the desk, snapped open the clasps, and dumped it. He found the mop and lifted it over his head.

"Whoa, whoa!" Raj shouted as he and the other two rushed in. John paused, and Raj went on. "Okay, you've made your point. Let's not bring Harley down on all of us."

"What did _we_ do?!" Tim exclaimed.

"Nothin', is what she'll say when she gets back and sees what we let happen." Raj carefully took hold of John's wrist. "Let's just take a breath--"

In one swift movement, John was behind Raj and pulling the mop handle against his throat. "Didn't do much for me," John giggled. "How's it working for you?"

"Expressing your feelings is important!" Alphonso exclaimed, edging forward as Raj choked. He picked up a container of translucent powder, unscrewed the lid, and shook it out onto the floor. "See, we can help you! Right, Raj?"

"Ack ullk eghh," said Raj.

John pulled the mop away and shoved him into Alphonso. "I don't care what you do!" he growled.

He smashed the mop onto the pile of cosmetics again and again, sending brushes and sponges and plastic flying. Alphonso pulled Raj back to the doorway, out of the range of fire, and Tim joined the retreat.

The mop brought less destruction than John wanted, so he dropped it and followed Alphonso's example. Kneeling on the floor, he picked up a now lidless eyeshadow pallet and carved through each well with a brush handle.

"I asked her," John said through gritted teeth as the colorful chunks fell to the floor, "if I could try this. She said no. Not yet. Said I had to earn it. Didn't say how-- or why!"

When the wells were empty, he snapped the brush in half. Nearby lay some purple nail polish. He opened it, threw away the brush, and poured the lacquer out, drawing an arcing line.

"Bruce would've... I could've got makeup, but I didn't ask, because I thought she'd get mad."

The bottle emptied quickly, but there was enough to add dot eyes to the smiley face. Then he grabbed a handful of scattered brushes and tore out their bristles.

"Well, _I'm_ mad! I didn't sign over my whole life just because she helped me!"

The trio of goons broke into an unintelligible chorus of agreement.

John got up and overturned the vanity seat. He stood on the underside and kicked at the legs, and he broke two off before he spotted Harley's favorite red lipstick behind her trunk. He hopped down and grabbed it, then twisted it all the way up. He scrawled on the desk, on the vanity, on the walls: NOT YOUR PUDDIN.

He was breathing hard. He still felt angry, but also exhilarated. Dr. Leland would not approve of this method of catharsis, but it certainly felt productive.

A piece of a mirror shone on the ground. John picked it up and used the lipstick stub to coat his lips in red, just as he'd always wanted. He looked at the stark color on his pale skin for a few breaths, feeling a satisfaction mingled with frustration that he'd denied himself this simple thing. He threw the lipstick out the window as he headed out the door.

Tim, Alphonso, and Raj backed out of his path. He headed downstairs, where all the other men gawked at the mess on the platform below Harley's window. A few pulled the bucket off the dazed Dmitri's head. Then they were all watching John.

But John's attention was drawn to the crates and boxes in the center of the station. Harley, Bane, and Freeze had grabbed some supplies before leaving, including explosives. John walked over to a familiar crate and scooped out one of the explosive-stuffed mannequin heads. He hugged it sadly. He and Bruce had made these together, just that morning.

Among the murmurs, one of the men finally exclaimed, "What the hell are you doing, you lunatic?!"

Tim came forward and laughed nervously. "Everything's cool! John is just, uh, venting."

"He vents any more, Bane is gonna beat his ass!" shouted someone else.

Ah, yes, the threat of the big bad Bane. John knew it well-- but the anxiety wasn't rising up now. Bane could very well take him apart with one mighty blow, or more methodically, limb by limb. But John's heart was already bruised and torn, and nothing could be worse than that. What an inoculant perspective could be.

One of the nearby boxes was full of charges, and John grabbed one. "Muscles and steroids may break my bones," he sing-songed, sticking the charge into the head and activating it, "but C-4 is the great equalizer!"

Men screamed and rushed the exits as the triggerless charge starting beeping wildly. The three stooges behind John burst into their own curses and receding boot stomps. John chucked the bomb across the room and hit bullseye: the tanks connected to Bane's venom lab.

The explosion was fiery, a flaming ball that fwoomed upward but pushed heat in all directions. It warmed John to his bones, and he cackled as metallic and wooden shrapnel somersaulted past him, even as he stretched out his arms to welcome the blast. What a show!

Inevitably, the fire shrunk to a minor threat clinging to the flammable debris in the crater that now took up half Bane's corner. John's laugh persisted even as he coughed on the lingering smoke. Alphonso suddenly ran past with a fire extinguisher, and John looked back to see Tim and Raj huddled under the debris-riddled stairs. The four men were the only ones left in the station.

Raj poked his head out. "How do you not have a scratch?!"

Heck if John knew. It was just like before, when he demonstrated the explosions for Bruce. They'd ended up soaking wet, but just fine. Bruce had panicked for nothing.

But Bruce worried because he cared. And his arms had been so strong and secure. And wouldn't he have been so happy that no one got hurt?

John's arms flopped to his sides. Alphonso walked back over. The fire was out.

"Are you done?" Alphonso asked, pointing the hose at John.

"Just one last thing," John muttered.

He turned and headed for Freeze's lab. The trio stayed on his tail.

"I really think you made your point, John," Tim said in a strained voice. "Whatever it is."

"This might still be worth it," Alphonso thought aloud. "If everyone else doesn't come back, we could get a bigger share of the payout."

"You think there's still gonna be a payout?" Raj responded skeptically.

The argument derailed as they rounded the corner into Freeze's ice cave. The goons slipped and stumbled on the sheen of ice on the ground, Alphonso dropping the extinguisher. John walked steadily to Nora's humming cryogenic tube.

He looked inside at her gaunt, unchanging face. "Do you think she's aware in there at all?" he asked. "Waiting to see Freeze's grumbly mug again?"

The other men had managed to steady themselves by holding onto each other in a chain that ended at Freeze's work table. "Who knows?" Raj answered crankily, his ankle hooked around the table leg. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Yeah," John sighed, walking around the head of the cryotube. "In a world of sad stories"-- He wriggled his arm between the tube and the wall, feeling around where the generator plugged in-- "who needs another one?"

The goons went stock-still and wide-eyed. "John!" Tim said urgently. "John, not this, come on."

John wrenched his arm out, holding a frosted pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. He wrinkled his brow. "Not what?"

The others deflated with relief.

"It's better that she doesn't know anything," John muttered as he looked over the table for an appropriate tool. "Doesn't know what she's missing."

On a cleared section sat a temperature-controlled container with a clear lid. It held multiple vials of Riddler's blood, ready for Freeze to get to work. The rest of the tabletop was scattered with bits and bobs, including what Freeze once identified, to John's delight, as a scoopula. It would do. John pulled the pint open and flung the lid away. He jabbed the scoopula into the ice cream and shoveled some into his mouth.

He rolled the sugary flavors around his tongue and swallowed. "I wish I didn't know. I was fine before. Everything was fine!" He took another scoopful and talked around it. "I mean, it's better not to know! Duh! I should know that of all people!" He swallowed and pointed the scoopula at his forehead. "You know what haunts me about life before Arkham? Nothing! Because I don't remember any of it!"

He stabbed the scoopula back into the pint. "And didn't Bruce seem worry-free?" He went still, sullen. "Do you think he wishes he could forget these past few days?" He shook his head suddenly and continued to eat. "Doesn't matter. Wouldn't work out. I didn't go running off looking for Batman did I? I went right to the criminal set. That's all that needs to be said, doesn't it?" He looked to the other men for confirmation.

"Uhhh?" Alphonso said.

John didn't need their input anyway. As done as he was with Harley, she was right about one thing: someone like Bruce couldn't be with someone like John.

But acknowledging that still hurt, and he lashed out with the scoopula, swiping tools and bolts to the floor. He didn't mean to snag the blood container, which fell over, slid over the edge of the table, and crashed to the ground. The vials inside shattered, blood pooling into the lid and leaking through a fresh crack onto the icy floor.

John blinked at the mess. "Whoops." He took another mouthful of ice cream.

"Jesus!" Raj snapped.

Tim slowly raked his nails from his hair down the sides of his head.

Alphonso grabbed his shoulder. "It's fine. Freeze can get more from the body."

Why were they such worried Walters? They weren't the ones who wanted Riddler's gross blood from his gross body. And Bruce was probably right about it being no miracle cure. What made Freeze so sure? His years of experience and various PhDs? Phhbt.

John stepped over the broken samples to return to the station, but he paused when a white board on the wall caught his eye. He held his makeshift spoon in his mouth, grabbed a marker on the desk, and added random digits to Freeze's calculations. Then he tossed the marker away and continued on, forcing his tagalongs to make way.

As the four men headed back to warmer quarters, Raj said patiently, "John, how about you have a sit and eat your feelings while we figure out the quickest way to explain this is all your fault?"

If John was finished taking suggestions from Harley, he was definitely not interested in any from underlings. Maybe Harley thought of John as half-underling, but John decided he was better than that. He could make his own decisions, about... things. Like waiting until after the ice cream was gone to figure out what those things were.

John detoured to the meeting platform, scattered with everything thrown from the office. He continued to eat as he kicked through the mess. There were assorted diagrams for future heists he'd expected to help with. Whatever. There was a can of glow-in-the-dark spraypaint, the same used to decorate the funhouse like a home. Whoop de do. There was a pile of money that had come loose from the paper straps, money that Harley insisted was so important for their future. So much for that. Shame none of the other men had come back. He wouldn't have stopped them from grabbing their cut and leaving before the cops arrived.

Clutching the scoopula, John rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. He'd forgotten he was expecting the raid. He could think better if the beer-induced cloud in his brain would clear up for sunnier skies. Maybe he could get in a nap before jail.

He turned back to the stairs and nearly fell over Riddler's preservation pod. Righting himself, John scoffed. "This guy! Still tripping me up." He swung his foot back and nailed the pod hard in the side.

The coffin skidded, started to slide, then tumbled over the stairs. It banged into the concrete floor and made a sparking sound. Slight smoke drifted from the creases.

"There is no payout," Tim said. "Only death."

"Only if we're here," Raj said.

Alphonso had already run out, leaving the station doors swinging.

John headed to his house for that nap.

* * *

Bruce's voice could be soft and sweet, or light and teasing, or rough and promising. So many of the moments John couldn't forget were keyed into something Bruce had said or some sound he had made.

John could still hear his voice now, as he laid in the bed they'd shared.

And he could sense his shoulder being jostled.

And feel his nose pinched shut so he had to gasp to breathe.

John's eyes shot open and a hand drew back, a hand in a black glove with razor-sharp fingertips, part of Catwoman's black bodysuit.

And next to her...

John sat up on his elbows and stared at Batman kneeling at the side of the bed. It had been so long since John had seen the vigilante in the flesh (and kevlar) that it felt like that Arkham riot must have been a dream-- and this was just as unreal.

"John," Bruce said again, in that wonderful voice, the cowl's modulator turned off. His gloved hand lightly held John's wrist; he'd been looking at John's bleeding palms, clumsily wrapped in gauze. "I was afraid you wouldn't be here." Softly glowing lenses hid Bruce's eyes, but they were trained on John's mouth. "You already, uh, have a new look?"

"You're one to talk!" John giggled with reflexive joy, but that joy faded fast as everything came back to him.

"What happened--"

John jerked away. He sat up on the edge of the bed and folded his arms. "Did you bring her to invite me to the wedding?" he asked bitterly.

"Excuse me?" Bruce said.

"Uh..." Catwoman took a few long steps back to the windows near the door. "I'll be over here keeping watch." She clutched Riddler's laptop against her hip.

"We just came from Bodhi Spa," Bruce said. "We met up with the Agency there, but the Pact had already broken in."

"Right," John said, "and you arrested them, and now me."

"What?" Bruce's mouth screwed up. "I'm not arrest-- No one got caught. Once the agents got in, they escalated the situation and all hell broke loose. I managed to destroy most of the containers of the virus, but it was still lucky that our 'friends' didn't manage to escape with one."

"You met up with..." John rolled his eyes. "You weren't just here as Batman. Of course."

"Director Waller wanted my help," Bruce admitted, "though she threw in some blackmail about my identity to make sure she'd get it."

"But you would have spied anyway."

"The Pact hurt people, John," Bruce replied sternly. "But I think Waller will hurt people, too. One of her agents talked to me privately. She said Waller has been acting suspiciously, that she let us get Riddler's body."

John snorted. "I think you nailed enough agents in the face for them to let us take it."

"Didn't you wonder why no backup showed up that night?" Bruce's frown deepened. "Waller wanted Harley and the others to have more incentive to infiltrate the black site. She wanted them to break through the initial defenses so the Agency could have an easier time moving in. And now Waller has the last sample of the virus."

"Does she have Riddler's blood?" Catwoman asked over her shoulder.

John realized the question was directed at him. "Huh?"

"Waller's as curious about the healing potion as anyone," Bruce said. He laid a hand on John's knee. "Did the Agency find this place already? Everyone is gone, this place is turned upside-down, and your hands..."

"I was going for more of an inside-out feel," John replied dully.

"You...?"

"So if those broken samples were all Freeze took," Catwoman mused, "and Eddie's body is no longer preserved... Well, maybe that scraping you got can give you some idea of what Harley and company would have accomplished."

Bruce wasn't listening. "You did all that?" he asked John.

"I was upset," John replied tersely.

"About what?"

John's jaw dropped. "You left!" he snapped, shoving Bruce's chest.

Bruce stopped his fall with a hand flat on the floor behind him, on the edge of his cape. He looked dumbfounded even with his eyes covered. "I left a note."

Pain flared in John's palms but he didn't care. "You didn't say you were coming back!"

Catwoman turned bodily now and shot a pitying smirk at the vigilante. "Really, Bruce?"

"It hasn't even been half a day!" Bruce exclaimed defensively.

"I didn't realize your EQ left so much to be desired."

"I texted!" Bruce added.

John was about to retort that he did not get any texts, nice try-- then he remembered his powered-down phone laying in the corner. "Oh."

"I'm sorry for-- for the bad communication, but we don't have a lot of time. I never told the Agency where the hideout was, but if they pick up on the Pact's trail, all of them could be here at any moment." Bruce got to his feet. "I need to get you out of here."

All of this should have been exactly what John wanted to hear. Bruce hadn't brought the cops. Bruce was here to get him.

But that didn't make sense. 

John narrowed his eyes. "I'm a criminal," he said. "Batman fights those."

Bruce's brow furrowed. "You know it's not that simple."

"Of course it is! I hang out with killers. I help them. I lied about you and me being together. I encouraged you to do bad things." John jabbed his finger at Bruce. "And you lied to me, too, _buddy._ 'Oh sure, John, I'm more than happy to return that awesome favor, no underlying motivation attached!'"

Catsy sounded like she was choking back a laugh, probably because John's impersonation of Bruce was spot on.

Bruce protested, "I don't think that perspective--"

"Point is, we're at cross purposes. I'm bad, you're good. That's the long and short of it."

Bruce lifted his hands to his cowl and, after some snapping sounds, he pulled it off. He set the mask on the bed. He really shouldn't have been wearing it at all, if that head wound was going to heal right.

"No one is all good or all bad," he said. "I know the ways you've helped the Pact, and it's nothing you can't come back from. If you come with me, I can help you. You can start over, out of incarceration."

That sounded nice, but of course it did, coming from that pretty face. Taking off the mask was cheating. "That's ridiculous," John replied.

"It is," Catwoman said, "but Bruce has a habit of offering safe harbors."

John blinked at her, then at Bruce and his earnest expression. Bruce... really believed what he was saying. John wrinkled his nose. "Maybe you should have stayed in Arkham."

"Why?" Bruce said.

"Because... because we don't fit! Just look at... look at... Look at how surprised you were that I wrecked this place because of you! And I destroyed evidence! I made your work harder. What hero's boyfriend would do that, huh?"

"It's just stuff, John. I can make do. And I don't see any bodies."

"There might have been!"

"There weren't!"

"Is this a real argument?" Catwoman muttered.

"There is no argument!" John exclaimed. "I'm where I belong!" Why was Bruce being so stubborn? He deserved someone better than John. If he didn't see it now, he'd see it eventually, and John would go through all those horrible feelings all over again.

"I'm not leaving here without you," Bruce said.

John gawked. "If the ream team sees you in that getup, they'll try to kill you, all together. By himself, Bane already--"

"I don't care." Bruce stared him down.

At the window facing the main station doors, Catwoman's wary posture turned into a full crouch. "I hear them coming," she said, peering over the bottom of the frame.

Bruce didn't move.

"Get out of here!" John snapped.

"Yeah, Selina." Bruce sat on the floor with his legs bent and his arms resting on his knees. "Don't get caught on my account."

John turned his flabbergasted expression to Catwoman, but she just murmured, "Not planning on it," while unfolding something from a pouch on her waist. He turned back to Bruce, who was supposed to be stalwart and tough but looked like a kid pouting in a Halloween costume.

"Why?" John challenged. "We had a few good days when you were out of your mind. Why would you need me around?"

Bruce glanced over at Catwoman, and his cheeks went pink, and maybe that was cute but it didn't matter because he didn't have an answer and he needed to--

"When you didn't respond to my texts, I thought..." Bruce took a deep breath and locked eyes with John. "I was so relieved you weren't at the spa. It still doesn't matter to me that maybe we only would have met at Arkham, because I'm glad we did. And yes, the start of our relationship was a lie, but that doesn't make the time we spent together less real, or make it mean less. It matters a lot to me. Even with the criminal backdrop, I just... I had such a good time with you, John." He extended a hand, palm up. "I... I don't want to have danced with you just once."

John's breath was trapped in his chest as he took in those words. Bruce waited. Finally, John leaned forward and planted his hands on Bruce's shoulders.

"You are an idiot," he growled.

He got up, forcing Bruce to move back, and went to his wall of photos. He took the ones with Bruce and Dr. Leland out of their frames and tucked them into his vest. He found his phone in the corner and put it in his back pocket. When he turned back, Bruce had gotten to his feet. John walked over and grabbed Bruce's glove with his bandaged hand.

"So stupid," John mumbled, glaring at the floor.

Bruce smiled and kissed his cheek. "So long as you're stupid with me."

John grabbed the cowl and pushed it at him. "Put this on so I can remember why I'm mad."

Bruce did so, taking John's hand back when he was done. Eyes hidden by glowing lenses again, he asked, "Did it work?"

John considered, taking in the whole suit. He started swinging Bruce's arm back and forth. "Do you have one of these for, like, private use?"

Abruptly, Catwoman hissed, "We have to go!" She'd put the laptop into a thin nylon backpack she was now wearing.

Her urgency wasn't unwarranted. As John and Bruce followed her out of the hacienda, Harley's rage and Bane's roar echoed from the commuter walkway. Freeze probably wasn't that happy either, but he wasn't often a loud guy. He was probably the first to notice the guards' absence. There were no other sounds, so it seemed that the Agency hadn't caught up with them, at least not yet.

Catwoman made a left hook into the dark train tunnel. As John walked at Bruce's side, still holding his hand, he gave the station one last look over his shoulder. The look was brief, because a sudden brightness took his attention; Bruce had turned up the power in his lenses to light their way. 

Shortly they came to a cave-in and a scramble of rats that the Pact had found on moving in. Now, though, John could see that a large hole had been cleared at the top of the blockage. Big, heavy-looking rocks sat scattered on the ground below it.

"You're a strong lady," John said as Catwoman climbed to the opening. She didn't seem dissuaded by the darkness on the other side; her goggles must have had nightvision.

"Wasn't me," she replied. "Found this that first night I snuck in."

"Croc," John murmured.

"What?" Bruce said.

"Nothing."

John climbed through next, and Bruce followed. On the other side, they walked quickly along the tracks, Bruce's light revealing more rats scurrying over the rails.

One raced over Catsy's foot. "Ugh," she groaned, going stiff for a moment. "Glad I didn't become a full-time member of Riddler's outfit."

"I'd think this would be your kinda place, Cat Lady!" John giggled.

"Ha." She made a turn in a flowing, glamorous pose, stroking the back of her hand over her forehead. "I'm a picky housecat at the end of the day." After the spin, she pointed up ahead to the right. "Through here."

She walked up to a metal door and pulled it open. John hesitated and peered further down the tunnel. Bruce looked too, but his light only went so far down the rails.

"Did you hear something?" he asked.

John shook his head. He thought maybe Croc was watching, but it was dead quiet. Though the beast man could be holding his breath. Just in case, John cupped his hands around his mouth.

"The station should be clear soon!" he shouted. "Hope your friends come back!"

"John!" Catwoman hissed. "The key to escaping is no one noticing!"

"Who are you yelling at?" asked Bruce.

"Maybe nobody," John said, and he pulled Bruce through the doorway.

A concrete flight of stairs led up to a rusted service door and out to a sidewalk in the university district. The Skyrail that had made the subway obsolete had a station just overhead, blocking out the lightening sky. A staircase nearby and a matching one across the street led up to the platform.

But Batman certainly wasn't taking public transportation. On their way up, after Bruce turned down his lenses, he'd entered commands into the panel on his arm guard. Now John heard the approaching growl of an engine, and a bright set of headlights turned the corner a few blocks away. In just a few seconds the Batmobile came to a stop beside them.

"We can analyze the laptop back at the cave," Bruce said to Catwoman.

"We could, but there's only room for two in your ride," she said, winking at John, still holding Bruce's hand. "It's close to sunrise. How about I take a look myself, and I'll bring it to the manor this evening."

"Selina--"

"You've had your memory back just half a day," she said. "Don't tell me you don't need more time to take everything in. I promise, Bruce, I'll be there. If the Agency was involved in Eddie's death, I'm not keen to go after them by myself."

Bruce hesitated, but he nodded. "See you then."

Above them, the track vibrated slightly, and the first train of the day pulled in. There was movement on the platform as the few early morning passengers shuffled off and on. With a few cracks of her whip, Selina swung and climbed partway up the staircase, and then under the track. She looped the whip through some mechanism on the underside of the central car. The train started up again and whisked her away.

Bruce looked to John. "Ready?"

John reluctantly detached from him and walked to the Batmobile's passenger side. Giddiness quickly rose in his stomach when he opened the door and saw all the panels and buttons and colors. He got in and practically bounced in his seat while buckling in.

"I'm really in the Batmobile!" he cheered as Bruce did his own buckle.

"Wait 'til you see the cave," Bruce said with a smirk.

Just after he shifted into drive, a screen on the center console blinked to life with Alfred's name and picture.

"Are you well?" came Alfred's voice.

"Still fine, Al," Bruce responded, pulling away from the curb.

"After your latest injury, I was concerned you'd manage to slip on a banana peel or get hit by a falling piano," came the dry reply.

John covered his mouth as he snickered.

Bruce was less amused and moved on to business. "We're going to regroup with Selina tonight about dealing with Waller. As for the Pact, we'll have to figure out their status and act from there."

"Very good," Alfred responded. "I judge by the laughter that you successfully procured Mr. Doe."

John lowered his hands. "Uh, yeah, hi again. Procurable me here."

"Your room is all prepared."

"My room?" Everything was happening so quickly, John hadn't really registered what it meant to be staying with Bruce. His own space in a _mansion_. With a butler-dad.

"While impressive, the cave is rather chilly," Alfred replied. "I doubt you'll want to stay there."

John doubted that doubt, because a cave base sounded awesome.

"Thanks, Al," Bruce said. "Have the med kit ready. John has some injuries."

"Certainly. I'll see you shortly."

Alfred's face vanished from the screen, replaced by a menu, but John's eyes stayed trained there. He worried his bottom lip.

"What's the matter?" Bruce asked.

"My first impression," John said. Alfred hadn't sounded happy about him-- or unhappy, really, just very matter-of-fact.

"He'll give you a chance. He's dealt with more complicated issues than a new resident. He just needs time."

"The same time we'll take to really get to know each other."

Bruce smiled. "Yes, that time."

"And after that time, what if you don't like me so much after all?"

"What if you don't like me?"

John snorted. "That's impossible."

"I feel the same way."

John felt suddenly and happily shy and tucked into himself, knees together and arms pressed to his sides. He watched the city blocks fly by, leaving Old Five Points behind just like that. John had made a choice to trust in Bruce, and here they were, starting another chapter.

Of course, John still thought Bruce had to be out of his mind-- but that just meant he was kind of like John, didn't it?

John wanted to be kind of like Bruce. "I'll help you with Waller."

"I don't want you anywhere near those people," Bruce said. "I should have known I couldn't trust her to not escalate. She knew I was going to investigate the Pact, so why would she blackmail me unless she thought she might want to try pushing me beyond my boundaries?"

"She's probably going to use that virus to push other people," John thought out loud. "If the blood worked, she probably could've pushed them with that, too."

Bruce's frown deepened. "She could have... In any case, I need to figure out how to get that virus away from her."

"I can help you figure!" John insisted. "From your lair, at least."

"Lair is such a bad-guy-sounding word."

"Well, a cave is definitely a lair so you should've thought ahead." John clapped his hands. "Ooh, when I move into the field, I want a costume! With a cool jacket!"

"We're going to have to talk about a lot of things before we broach the idea of you joining me in the field."

"What do you mean?"

"You hurt yourself today."

John looked down at his hands. "It was just... just a slip in temperament. You weren't there. Harley really got to me."

"I know, but vigilantism is high-stress." Bruce glanced over. "We can hammer out the details later, but let's make a deal. You can help me from the cave with Waller, and once that situation is resolved, we'll start you up on that outpatient plan. As long as you follow that, I'll start training you to join me."

"What outpatient plan?" John said with a sidelong glance out the window.

"The one you mentioned to me in passing when we were preparing the bombs, that you acted like was optional and not part of your release, except now I remember that Dr. Leland was a good doctor and she probably didn't say that."

With a huff, John folded his arms. "You know, people say they want a partner who remembers the little things, but they don't really think it through."

Bruce waited silently.

John sighed. "If get the jacket."

"I can get you all the jackets you want."

"Heh, let's start with one. Or two." John paused. "I already have what I really want."

Bruce pressed two fingers under his jaw and said in his modulated gravelly voice, "The mysterious and mighty Batman." 

"Sure, that part's great," John said, reaching over and pulling Bruce's hand down, intertwining their fingers. He grinned and cocked his head. "But I was thinking about flirty and sweet Brucie."

Bruce watched the road as he drove, but his face was definitely getting red again under the mask, and he fought back a smile. Did he always try to be so serious when he was suited up?

"Though that guy didn't stay in a separate room," John added teasingly.

"That's... I don't regret..." Bruce coughed. "Everything was a bit of a whirlwind, so I wanted to make sure you had the space to dial things back, if you wanted."

John giggled. "Buddy, I can wait to partner with you in the streets, but the sheets are a different story."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And all the other original story threads turned out A-OKAY, THE END.
> 
> I know the chapter title was kind of a dick move, but it fit so well I couldn't help it.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who followed this story, which I basically started as a light-hearted release for all the fluffy impulses I couldn't put in On the Mend. While it got more serious than I expected at points, I had a lot of fun writing it and I'm glad other people enjoyed reading it.
> 
> Speaking of On the Mend, maybe check it out if you haven't! Its lighter on the batjokes, but it's meant to segue into an idiots-in-love sequel that I can hopefully start posting in February.


End file.
